The soft chime of a bell rang above her as Caliste pushed open the door to the quiet coffee shop tucked between a florist and a bookstore. She needed space—space from the penthouse, space from Lucian, and mostly, space from her spinning thoughts.
The café was warm, filled with the rich scent of roasted beans and cinnamon. She inhaled deeply. For once, she didn't want to think about marriage, scandals, or feelings she wasn't supposed to have.
She just wanted a caramel latte and maybe a few minutes of silence.
But fate had other plans.
"Cal?"
She turned at the familiar voice and nearly dropped her purse.
Jace.
He looked surprised too, his coffee halfway to his mouth.
"Wow," he said, standing. "I didn't think I'd see you here."
"I—uh—I didn't think you'd be here either," she said, awkwardly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
He smiled, soft and friendly. "I guess we both have good taste in quiet places."
She chuckled nervously. "Yeah. I needed a break."
He motioned to the empty chair across from him. "You wanna sit?"
She hesitated, then nodded and joined him. "Sure. Just for a bit."
It felt… easy. Like no time had passed since they last spoke. The tension she'd been carrying all day seemed to relax in Jace's presence. They talked about mundane things—coffee preferences, old TV shows, memories from university.
"I still remember how you always added three pumps of vanilla to your drink," he teased.
"I still do," she grinned. "Some things never change."
He looked at her for a moment, something gentle in his gaze. "You seem… tired. Are you okay?"
She opened her mouth to say yes, but it came out more like a sigh. "Honestly? No. Not really."
He nodded, not pressing her to explain.
It was that kindness—his quiet understanding—that tugged at her the most. Just as she was about to change the subject, the door opened again.
A tall figure in a charcoal suit stepped in.
Lucian.
He spotted her almost immediately. His eyes narrowed when he saw Jace sitting across from her, both of them smiling over half-empty cups.
Lucian walked over, his presence stiffening the air around them.
"Caliste," he said coolly. "Didn't expect to find you here."
"I could say the same," she replied, equally calm.
Jace leaned back in his chair, casually sipping the last of his drink.
Lucian's gaze flicked to him. "You two… ran into each other?"
"Yeah," Jace said, "small world."
Lucian's jaw ticked. "Hmm."
Caliste felt the heat of tension rising.
"You needed something, Lucian?" she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral.
He stared at her for a beat, then shook his head. "No. Just saw my wife having coffee with an old flame. Thought I'd say hello."
She flinched slightly. "He's just a friend."
Lucian raised a brow. "Right. Friends."
Jace stood, grabbing his coat. "I was just leaving anyway."
"Don't let me rush you," Lucian said coolly.
But Jace smiled politely. "Wasn't for you."
He turned to Caliste. "Take care, Cal."
She gave him a small nod. "Thanks, Jace."
Once he was gone, Lucian slid into the chair Jace had just left. "Nice reunion."
"Don't start," she said tiredly. "I didn't plan this."
"You seemed cozy."
Her temper flared. "You have no right to talk about 'cozy' after being caught with a model."
He exhaled sharply. "I told you—nothing happened."
"And I'm just supposed to believe you?" she snapped. "We live like strangers, Lucian. You disappear for weeks, and when we talk, it's always about business or obligations!"
"This marriage was never supposed to be about feelings," he said tightly.
The words hit her like a slap.
She went silent.
Lucian seemed to regret it instantly. "Caliste, I didn't mean it like—"
"No. You meant exactly that," she whispered. "Thanks for the reminder."
She stood, grabbed her purse, and walked out of the café without looking back.
Lucian sat alone, watching her disappear into the crowd, heart thudding with guilt.
He hadn't meant to hurt her. But he always did, somehow.
And the worst part? He couldn't admit that maybe… just maybe… he didn't want this to be just a political marriage anymore.
The car ride back to Lucian's penthouse was silent.
No bickering. No eye rolls. Not even a sigh.
Just silence.
Caliste sat on the passenger side, her face turned toward the window, watching the city blur past. She didn't say a word, didn't even glance his way. The air between them felt colder than the leather seats.
Lucian gripped the steering wheel tighter, stealing a glance at her.
She used to fill the car with chatter—random questions, complaints about his taste in music, comments about the city lights. Now, she was a stranger. A quiet stranger with tired eyes and a wall around her.
He hated it. But he didn't know what to say to fix it.
Back at the penthouse, Caliste walked in first, took off her coat, and went straight to the guest bedroom.
She hadn't used that room in months.
Lucian stared at the door she closed behind her.
That felt like goodbye.
The next morning, Caliste wasn't in the dining area. No freshly brewed coffee. No sarcastic greeting. Just an empty chair across from Lucian and a note left on the counter:
"Don't wait for me. I have errands."
– C
He stared at the short message. It wasn't cold, just distant. Like something a secretary would leave her boss. Polite. Detached. Clean.
She didn't come back until late that night. He heard her keys in the door, her soft footsteps, the sound of her shoes being placed neatly on the rack.
But she didn't come to him. She didn't ask if he ate. Didn't argue about who used all the hot water.
She just passed by the living room with a quiet, "Good night."
Lucian blinked. That was worse than yelling.
The emotional distance stretched out like a quiet ache over the next few days.
She ate breakfast alone. Took her coffee to go. Stayed out for hours.
She spoke only when necessary. Answered questions with short phrases. Didn't ask about his meetings or travel plans.
And she smiled less.
Even the plants she used to talk to had wilted in their corners.
Lucian watched it all, every day, pretending it didn't bother him.
But it did.
He didn't want to admit it—not even to himself—but he missed the way she used to fill the space. The way her presence made the sterile penthouse feel like a home, even if she annoyed him half the time.
Now the silence felt like punishment.
One night, he found her curled up in the library with a book on her lap but her eyes unfocused.
"You okay?" he asked, leaning against the doorway.
She didn't look up. "I'm fine."
He crossed the room. "You've been avoiding me."
She finally met his eyes. "I've been giving you space."
"From what?"
"From someone who might accidentally start caring again."
Lucian felt that. Deep.
"Caliste—"
"I get it, Lucian," she said softly. "You don't want feelings involved. It's political. A business agreement. I understand now."
He opened his mouth to explain, but she closed the book and stood.
"You don't have to explain anything," she said, brushing past him. "Let's just stick to the plan."
And just like that, she was gone again—leaving him in the echo of his own mess.
That night, Lucian lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
He should feel relief. She was finally acting like the wife he wanted—silent, detached, professional.
But it felt like losing something he didn't know he needed.
Something warm.
Something real.
And now?
She was slipping through his fingers like sand, and he had no idea how to stop it without dropping the walls he spent years building.