Lucas Vale hated loose ends.
He stared at the flower shop receipt on the counter, jaw clenched, fingers tapping once against the marble. The flowers should've arrived by now. By this point, Evelyn usually would've called—even just to say she got them.
She always called. She always noticed things.
That was just her.
But now his phone stayed stubbornly silent.
He picked it up, thumb hovering over her name. Thought twice. Set it back down. Calling again tonight would be too much. Desperate.
He stood up, irritation prickling under his skin.
This was just a rough patch. Evelyn always needed room when she was upset—she'd cool off, pick up the phone eventually.
Still, something about the house felt wrong tonight.
He wandered through the rooms, restless, noticing details he'd never paid attention to before. No soft footfalls. No faint music drifting out of the kitchen while she cooked. Even the air felt different—colder, heavier.
He poured himself a whiskey and stood by the windows, the city stretching out below him.
He'd built this life piece by piece. Every detail checked, every outcome measured.
So why did it suddenly feel like something was slipping away?
---
Across the city, Evelyn sat cross-legged on her couch, her laptop open, papers fanned out on the coffee table.
She was reviewing contracts—real ones this time. Names she recognized. Offers she never thought she'd see.
Her phone was off. Not silent. Not ignored. Off. That mattered.
She worked late, focused and steady. There was a rhythm to it, a sense of purpose she'd forgotten she could have. By the time exhaustion crept in, it felt earned, not drained from her by someone else's needs.
Before bed, she glanced at the bouquet again.
White lilies.
She remembered the first time Lucas brought them home, way back at the start. Back then, she thought it meant he noticed her, that he cared.
She knew better now.
She carried the flowers out to the balcony, set them gently in a corner. They could keep living out there, blooming—but not inside her space.
Then she shut the door.
---
The next morning, Lucas showed up at the office before anyone else.
Way too early.
His assistant looked surprised. "Good morning, Mr. Vale."
He just nodded and disappeared into his office.
He skimmed the reports on his desk, but the numbers blurred together. A missed detail here, a delayed approval there. The things that used to give him a sense of control now just slipped through his fingers.
At ten sharp, his assistant knocked.
"Your mother's on the line."
Lucas sighed. "Put her through."
"Lucas," his mother launched in, brisk as ever. "I need to talk to you."
"About what?"
"The divorce," she said like she was discussing business. "You need to be careful. People pay attention."
"I know," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"You're still young. Eligible. It wouldn't hurt to be seen out with someone new."
There it was.
Evelyn hadn't even been gone a week.
"I'm not interested," Lucas said, no hint of warmth.
She hesitated. "You sound… distracted."
"I have work to do." He ended the call before she could say more.
He leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
Eligible. As if his marriage was just something to cross off the list, not a whole life he'd signed away with a pen.
---
That afternoon, a senior exec knocked on his door.
"Got a minute?"
Lucas nodded.
The man lingered in the doorway. "Some partners are worried about changes at the foundation."
"What changes?" Lucas asked.
"Mrs. Vale's—Ms. Hart's—absence."
Lucas tensed. "What about it?"
"She was the glue for a lot of those relationships. Some donors are backing away."
Lucas felt a flash of something sharp and uncomfortable.
"She was just support," he said, too cold. "We'll replace her."
The executive shifted his weight. "With all due respect, sir… it's not that simple."
After the man left, Lucas just sat there, frozen.
Support. That's all he'd ever seen her as.
Quiet. Efficient. Easy to replace.
But now the word echoed in his head, sour and hollow.
---
That evening, Evelyn stepped into a small conference room, nerves steady.
This mattered.
She laid out her vision—clear, confident. She answered every question, didn't downplay herself, didn't apologize for wanting more.
When it was over, the room felt different. Electric.
One of the partners grinned at her. "You should've done this ages ago."
Evelyn smiled back. "I'm doing it now."
As she packed up, her phone vibrated—she'd turned it on, just for tonight.
A message flashed across the screen.
>Lucas Vale: We need to talk.
She stared at it.
Need.
Not want.
Not I'm sorry.
Not I was wrong.
She slipped the phone into her bag, the message unread.
---
That night, Lucas walked in and noticed the bouquet was gone.
Not tossed out.
Just moved.
He stood there, staring at the empty spot on the counter way too long.
Out of nowhere, he remembered Evelyn. The way she'd stand there, arranging flowers with that weird focus, snipping the stems just so, always humming some tune he never recognized.
He dropped onto the couch. The whole house felt heavier than usual.
Divorce was supposed to be a relief. That's what he'd told himself.
But all it really did was make him see things he'd ignored before.
And honestly, it shook him.
He grabbed his phone.
Started a text.
Erased it.
Tried again.
Did you get the flowers?
He looked at the message.
Deleted that, too.
Seriously, what was he doing?
Lucas Vale didn't chase after people.
Didn't beg.
Never second-guessed himself.
But this quiet wasn't power anymore.
Now, it felt like someone was looking right through him, waiting for an answer he couldn't give.
And that scared the hell out of him.