Chapter 4

By the time I got home, dinner was already prepared.

The servant saw me come through the door and instinctively glanced outside.

"Will Mr. Ravenscroft be home tonight?"

I handed her my coat.

"I don't know."

"Then dinner..."

"Don't wait for him. Go ahead and serve."

She paused, then quickly had the kitchen bring out the food.

The table was long. The seat at the other end sat empty.

I sat down and ate my portion.

Halfway through, my phone lit up twice. Nothing important.

I tapped the screen and saw that Lucian's chat was still pinned at the top.

The last message was from me, sent yesterday.

"Coming home for dinner tonight?"

No reply.

The one before that, from the day before.

"I'm at the gala now. I don't see you. Are you still working?"

"Will you be home tonight?"

Still no reply.

I scrolled slowly upward.

The chat history went on and on.

"Did you get to the office?"

"Business dinner tonight?"

"If your stomach's bothering you, don't drink too much."

"I had the kitchen save dinner for you."

"When are you coming home?"

"Still busy?"

Almost every message was mine.

Lucian's replies, when they came at all, were a few words spaced days apart.

"Yeah."

"Not coming."

"Busy."

More often, not even that.

I stared at the wall of messages for a while. All I felt was how absurd it was.

In five years, it had never once occurred to me that there was anything wrong with this.

Lucian doesn't like to talk.

Lucian has an emotional disorder.

He had given himself the perfect excuse long ago.

On the rare occasions he bothered to reply, I would feel grateful, as if he were making a real effort.

I scrolled to a date I recognized.

That night, Lucian had been drinking. He fell asleep on the couch, which was rare for him.

When I draped a blanket over him, he stirred, caught my wrist, and held on for a long time.

Maybe he was just drunk.

But that small, unprompted touch stayed with me.

Later, during one of his especially cold stretches, I would lie awake in bed and think about the hand that had held mine.

I kept telling myself that was the real Lucian.

He was just trapped behind his condition.

I set the phone aside, my temples throbbing hard.

The dining room was silent.

The servant stood at a distance, waiting. No one spoke.

I went back to eating.

Halfway through, my stomach began to churn, and I put down my utensils.

"Clear the table."

"Ma'am, would you like something else instead?"

"No."

I got up and went to the living room.

Lucian didn't come home that night. Near midnight, a servant asked whether to leave the door unlocked.

"No."

For five years, every passing car had made me look up. I had used waiting to disguise how alone I was. That night, I closed the book I had not been reading and pressed a hand to my still-flat stomach.

"Baby," I whispered.

The word steadied me. My child would not grow up in a house where love meant silence and excuses.

The next morning, Lucian still wasn't back.

I didn't ask.

On the third day, sometime before dawn, he came home.

When I came downstairs for breakfast, he was already sitting at the table, head bent over his laptop.

A cup of coffee had gone cold beside him.

I pulled out my chair.

Lucian glanced up.

We sat at the same table in our usual silence, exchanging less small talk than two strangers.

The smell of food turned my stomach. I only managed a few bites.

Lucian was right across from me.

He didn't notice.

I set down my utensils, drank half a glass of water, and stood to leave.

He stopped me.

"Vivienne."

I turned.

"That gala we talked about, when is it again?"

I hadn't expected him to remember.

A few days ago, I had shown him the invitation.

It was being hosted by an old noble family with ties to both our clans, and many vampires had been invited.

I'd asked if he wanted to go together.

He'd barely glanced at the date.

"Sure."

I had even sent his suit out to be pressed.

"Two nights from now, at seven," I said.

"Got it."

Lucian looked down again.

Five years of marriage, and this was the extent of our daily conversation.

All my endless patience and understanding, and in the end, he only wanted me to give him an heir before he divorced me.

I turned and walked away. I couldn't stand being in the same room with him.

The evening of the gala, I was dressed and downstairs by six.

The living room was empty.

I checked the time.

Six forty.

The driver was already waiting outside.

I waited another ten minutes.

No messages.

I asked the servant, "Did Lucian go out?"

"Mr. Ravenscroft left this afternoon."

"Did he say when he'd be back?"

"No."

I was quiet for a moment.

"All right."

At seven, I got in the car alone.

The car left the estate, and Lucian still hadn't contacted me.

He had promised.

But when he didn't feel like showing up, he simply didn't. He didn't even think it was worth telling me.

The gala had already begun.

The moment I walked in, people noticed I was alone.

Those looks were all too familiar.

A woman approached with a glass, smiling.

"Vivienne, here by yourself?"

She glanced toward the entrance.

"Where's Lucian?"

My hand paused around my glass.

"I don't know."

She seemed surprised by my answer.

Someone nearby let out a small laugh.

"Something came up again?"

The word "again" was barely a murmur.

Several people nearby heard it.

Someone quickly stepped in to smooth things over.

"Lucian's had a lot going on at the company lately. Makes sense he'd be busy."

I didn't respond.

A beat of silence.

They had watched this happen for years: Lucian failed to appear, and I supplied a dignified excuse. Work. The Elder Council. A ruined deal. Tonight I let his empty place speak for itself.

Gideon was there too.

He spotted me from across the crowd, finished his conversation, then walked over.

His gaze paused briefly behind me.

"Where's Lucian?"

"I don't know."

Gideon frowned.

"He didn't come with you?"

"No."

"Didn't you two RSVP as a couple a few days ago?"

"Yes."

He was quiet for a few seconds.

His expression darkened.

"You don't need to make excuses for him."

I looked up.

"What?"

"When people ask, just say you don't know."

Gideon's tone was flat.

"He's the one who disrespected you by not showing up. That's not your problem to manage."

I held my glass of water and said nothing.

The gala ran late.

When I got home, Lucian still wasn't there.

I showered and went to bed.

He didn't come back until the next day around noon.

I was in the living room going over some documents Gideon had sent me.

Lucian came in from outside and paused as he passed me.

When I didn't ask how he was, he hesitated.

"Yesterday got too busy. Forgot to tell you I wasn't going."

"Mm."

He looked at me, then asked, "Nobody said anything, did they?"

I shook my head.

"No."

Of course some people had watched and whispered, but I didn't see the point in telling him anymore.

It wouldn't change anything.

I went back to what I was reading.

The room was quiet for a few seconds.

Then, abruptly, he asked, "Why haven't you been texting me lately?"

I looked up.

Lucian's expression was as impassive as ever.

It wasn't concern, not really.

He was probably just thrown off by the sudden quiet on his phone.

"Nothing to say."

"You always used to ask when I was coming home."

I held his gaze.

"You've said a hundred times that you don't like being bothered when you're busy."

His own words, thrown back at him.

Lucian had nothing to say to that.

I closed the folder in my hands.

"Anything else?"

His expression grew a shade colder before he finally looked away.

"No."

I nodded, took the documents, and headed upstairs.

At my bedroom door, my phone buzzed.

A message from Gideon.

He had confirmed it: in ten days, vampire hunters would attack the Prince's annual gala.

That chaos would be my best chance to stage my death.

If everything went according to plan, everyone would believe a hunter's silver bullet had killed me.

I read the message, committed it to memory, and deleted it.

Ten days.

In ten days, I would take my baby and disappear from Lucian's world for good.