On the wedding anniversary, Serena's husband was with his mistress who was giving birth.

The next morning, Serena saw the news.

EXCLUSIVE: Billionaire Julian with his newborn child.

The abandoned anniversary setup still waits there, untouched.

Her phone vibrates again on the counter.

Julian's name appears.

She stares at it.

The screen lights up, then goes dark. Lights up again. He is calling back to back now, the way he does when he senses control slipping.

Serena does not answer. She lets it ring until it stops.

A text follows.

[We need to talk. Please.]

She almost smiles.

Serena lies back on the bed and stares at the ceiling again.

Ten years of marriage did not prepare her for this moment. But it did teach her one thing.

Survival.

She reaches over and turns her phone back on, just long enough to text one person. Her attorney.

[We need to talk today.]

————————

Julian comes home like nothing is wrong.

That is the first thing Serena notices.

The penthouse door opens with its usual quiet efficiency. No rush. No hesitation. Just the soft click of locks disengaging and the familiar sound of leather shoes on marble. He moves through the space like he owns it. Like he always has.

Serena stands at the kitchen island with a glass of water she has not touched. The candles are still lit behind her, their flames smaller now, stubbornly hanging on. Wax has pooled and hardened along the edges. The air smells faintly sweet and burned at the same time.

Julian loosens his tie as he walks in, already halfway into his apology.

"I know," he says, voice smooth, warm. "I lost track of time."

He sets his phone down beside his keys. Screen face down.

That detail lodges itself in Serena's chest.

He does not look at the table. He does not comment on the candles. He does not ask why dinner has gone cold or why she is standing instead of sitting.

He leans in to smooch her cheek.

Serena shifts just enough that his lips brush air.

Julian pauses.

Not long. He recovers quickly. He always does.

"Hey," he says gently, like she is a problem that needs careful handling. "You okay?"

She takes a sip of water. It tastes flat.

"Fine."

One word. Calm. Neutral.

Julian studies her face. His gaze lingers for a second longer than usual, like he is running a quiet assessment. Serena meets his eyes and gives him nothing to work with.

He exhales, the tension easing from his shoulders. Decision made.

"Long day," he says. "Board wouldn't let go of the Atlas expansion. Everyone wants guarantees that don't exist."

He smiles at her like that explains everything.

Serena nods once.

She does not ask questions. She does not comment on the time. She does not mention the missed calls.

Julian steps around the island and pours himself a drink. He chooses whiskey. He always does when he wants to feel in control. The ice clinks softly in the glass.

Serena watches his hands.

They are steady.

That matters.

"You didn't have to wait up," he says. "We can do this tomorrow. I'll make it up to you."

There it is.

Automatic forgiveness. Deferred accountability. He assumes she will let this slide the same way she always has.

Ten years of muscle memory is hard to break.

Serena turns slightly, resting her hip against the counter. She crosses her arms loosely, casual enough that it does not look defensive.

"Tomorrow's fine."

Julian blinks. He did not expect that.

He takes a sip of his drink, eyes still on her. "You sure?"

She nods. "I'm sure."

The silence stretches.

Julian clears his throat. "I should probably shower. I smell like airport coffee."

He waits, like he expects her to tease him. To tell him he smells fine. To close the distance between them.

She does not move.

"Go ahead," she says.

Julian hesitates, then nods. He walks past her, his shoulder brushing hers lightly. The contact sends a sharp, unwelcome jolt through her body.

She holds still until she hears the bedroom door close.

Only then does she exhale.

Serena turns toward the dining table. The place settings look wrong now. Too deliberate. Too hopeful. She reaches out and blows out the nearest candle. Then the next. One by one, she extinguishes all of them, watching the smoke curl upward before disappearing.

She does not clean up.

She leaves everything exactly as it is.

From the bedroom, she hears the shower turn on. The sound is grounding. Normal. It is strange how ordinary everything feels when something enormous has already shifted.

Serena walks to the window and stares out at the city. Her reflection floats faintly in the glass, superimposed over lights and movement and lives that have nothing to do with hers.

She thinks about the voicemail again. The woman's voice. The calm certainty. The way she said the word baby like it was a fact, not a confession.

Julian has not asked her why she is quiet.

He has not asked if something happened.

He has not asked if she is upset.

Those omissions are louder than anything he has said.

The shower turns off.

Serena straightens her posture, instinctive and practiced. She turns as Julian reenters the room, towel around his waist, hair damp, skin still flushed from the heat.

He looks good. He always has. Tall. Controlled. The kind of presence that fills a room without effort.

He smiles at her. Familiar. Easy.

"You're still up," he says.

She lifts a shoulder. "Couldn't sleep."

He nods, crossing the room to retrieve his phone. He checks it quickly, thumb moving fast. Serena watches the screen light up. Notifications bloom and vanish just as quickly.

He locks the phone and sets it back down.

No voicemail check. No missed call reaction.

Another mark against him.

"Want me to order something?" he asks. "You didn't eat."

She turns fully to face him now.

This is the moment she could confront him. Demand answers. Say the word baby out loud and watch his face crack.

She chooses not to.

Not yet.

"No," she says. "I'm not hungry."

Julian's brow furrows slightly. "You never skip dinner."

She meets his gaze. "People change."

He laughs softly. "Since when?"

Since tonight, she thinks.

Instead, she says nothing.

Julian steps closer. His voice drops, gentle. "Did I mess up that badly?"

There is something almost sincere in his tone. Almost.

Serena considers him carefully. She thinks about the man she married. The one who promised transparency. Partnership. Loyalty.

She thinks about the voicemail sitting on her phone, untouched.

"You're late," she says simply.

His relief is immediate. Visible.

"I know," he says. "I said I'm sorry."

She nods. "You did."

Another pause.

Julian reaches out, brushing his thumb along her forearm. The gesture is intimate. Familiar. Designed to reconnect.

Her skin prickles.

"Come to bed," he says. "We'll talk in the morning."

Serena gently steps back, out of his reach.

"I need some air."

Julian's hand drops.

"Now?" he asks.

"Yes."

He studies her again, this time more closely. The confidence in his posture shifts. Something cautious creeps in.

"Serena," he says, voice low. "What's going on?"

She walks past him toward the balcony doors. The night air rushes in when she opens them, cool and sharp. She steps outside, the city noise rising to meet her.

Julian follows, stopping just inside the threshold.

She grips the railing, knuckles whitening.

"Did you know," she asks casually, "that some hospitals automatically notify next of kin when a child is born?"

Julian stiffens.

The change is subtle, but Serena feels it like a pulse beneath her fingers.

"I don't see how that's relevant," he says.

She turns to look at him.

His face is carefully neutral. His eyes are alert.

"Just something I read," she says.

He exhales slowly. "You're reading strange things tonight."

"Maybe."

They stand there, the city sprawling beneath them, the distance between their bodies suddenly vast.

Julian forces a smile. "You're tired. Let's not do this right now."

"Do what?" she asks.

"Whatever this is," he says. "You're looking at me like you're waiting for something."

I am, she thinks.

She steps closer, stopping just short of him. Close enough to see the faint line between his brows. The tension in his jaw.

"Julian," she says quietly.

"Yes?"

"Is there anything you want to tell me?"

The question hangs between them.

He could still salvage this. Admit something. Frame it as a mistake. Give her a version of the truth she can work with.

Instead, he shakes his head.

"No," he says easily. "Nothing you don't already know."

Serena holds his gaze.

She hears the lie settle into place.

She nods once, as if accepting it.

"All right," she says.

She turns back toward the city.

Julian lingers for a moment, then retreats inside. She hears the doors close behind him.

Serena stays where she is, letting the night air steady her breathing.

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone.

The voicemail is still there.

She opens it, stares at the timestamp.

Then she locks the screen and slips the phone back into her pocket.

Inside, Julian moves around the penthouse, the sounds of drawers opening and closing drifting through the glass. He hums quietly. Comfortable. Certain.

Serena tightens her grip on the railing.

One question forms in her mind, sharp and unavoidable.

She turns back toward the doors and walks inside, her steps measured.

Julian looks up from the bedroom doorway.

"Yes?"

Her voice is calm when she speaks. Precise. Surgical.

"Julian," she says, "who is the woman who just had your baby?"