Chapter 4 - The Unopened Umbrella
Four weeks passed in absolute domestic silence. Audrey Chen was a woman carved from marble; she worked sixteen hours a day, spoke strictly in directives, and treated our penthouse like a corporate annex. But unlike Willow, who used to throw porcelain vases across the room whenever she felt a hint of boredom, Audrey never raised her voice. When I began preparing her herbal decoctions and cooking every meal from scratch, she didn't thank me, but she emptied every bowl I placed in front of her.
By the fifth week, the faint blue tint had faded from her fingernails. Her morning coughing fits had ceased entirely. [Target Audrey Chen. Health Index: 71%. Affection: +25% (Gratitude/Curiosity).]
It was during the annual Spring Fashion Gala at the Grand Hyatt that our paths inevitably collided with the past. As the primary sponsors of the metropolitan arts council, Audrey and I were ushered toward the front-row banquet tables. I wore an emerald-cut onyx lapel pin on a midnight-blue tuxedo, walking half a step behind Audrey as etiquette dictated.
Across the velvet-roped foyer, an entourage of security guards parted the crowd. Willow Vance walked in, adorned in diamonds that could have bought an entire housing development. Beside her, Makoto Wang was beaming, basking in the flashbulbs like an exotic pet.
Then, Willow’s gaze swept across the entrance lobby and locked onto me.
She stopped dead in her tracks. The practiced, arrogant smirk on her lips vanished so violently that her publicist almost tripped over her train. For seven years, I had been her shadow—unremarkable, compliant, wearing second-hand clothes so she could afford couture. Now, standing beside the wealthiest female executive in the state, I looked completely out of her reach.
""George?"" Her voice cracked across the quiet lobby, sharp and disbelieving. She broke away from Makoto, ignoring the flashing cameras, and stepped directly into our path. ""George, what is this ridiculous game? Where have you been for the past month? Do you have any idea how many calls my assistant had to make to your apartment?""
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I looked at her face. For seven years, that face had occupied every waking second of my life. Now, looking at her wide, furious eyes, I felt absolutely nothing. No anger, no longing, no pain. Just the profound boredom one feels toward a stranger on a subway train.
""Excuse me, Miss Vance,"" I said, stepping slightly to the side to keep Audrey shielded from the reporters behind her. ""You are blocking my wife's path.""
