Chapter 10: Emotional Rift I knew something was wrong the moment I stepped through the penthouse door. It was a Thursday evening, and I was returning from a client meeting that had run late. The living room lights were dimmed, but I could make out a half-empty bottle of wine on the coffee table, alongside two glasses. Lucas rarely drank wine, preferring scotch or bourbon. And he never used two glasses when drinking alone. I set my portfolio and keys down silently, a sick feeling growing in the pit of my stomach. The penthouse was quiet-too quiet. No sounds from the kitchen or home office where Lucas usually worked in the evenings. I was about to call out when I heard the shower running in our bathroom. Our bathroom, not the guest bathroom. Moving on autopilot, I walked toward the master suite, each step heavier than the last. The bedroom door was ajar, soft light spilling into the hallway. I pushed it open and froze. Lucas was asleep on the sofa in the sitting area of our bedroom, still fully dressed except for his tie and shoes. An empty tumbler sat on the side table next to him. The bathroom door opened, releasing a cloud of steam. And there stood Phoebe Graham, her hair damp from the shower, wearing one of Lucas's white dress shirts that fell to mid-thigh, revealing long, slender legs. Time seemed to stop as our eyes met. Hers widened in surprise, then something like defiance flashed across her delicate features. I felt oddly detached, as if I were watching the scene from a distance. After all this time, all the careful dancing around each other, all the growing closeness between Lucas and me-here she was, in our bedroom, wearing his shirt after using our shower. In an instant, clarity washed over me. I asked myself, what was I even happy about? His joys, his future-they were never meant to be shared with me. I forced a smile at her, then changed my shoes and walked past her into the bedroom. Lucas was lying on the couch, his breathing deep and even. As I passed by him, the blanket covering him slipped and fell to the floor. I was about to pick it up when Phoebe walked over and took it from my hands. She leaned down, her movements gentle as she tucked the blanket around him. Lucas suddenly grabbed her arm, his eyes still closed. His voice was low, almost a murmur. "Don't go." My heart constricted painfully in my chest. Even in sleep, he reached for her, not me. Phoebe looked up at me, a flicker of guilt crossing her face. "I ran into him outside Bellini's. I had a rough time with a client and drank a bit too much. He was worried, so he brought me back. Don't get the wrong idea." She gestured toward Lucas. "He's just exhausted and fell asleep. Nothing happened." I said, "Oh." "Then take good care of him." With that, I went upstairs to the guest bedroom-my old room-and closed the door behind me. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall. Let's just get a divorce already, I thought. This role of Mrs. Bailey-whoever wants it can have it. I don't know how long I sat there, numb and unmoving. Eventually, I lay down fully clothed on top of the covers and fell into a restless sleep. I woke the next morning to find Lucas standing at the foot of the bed. His face was thunderous, eyes dark with anger. "Autumn Shepherd," he said, his voice dangerously low. "You've got some nerve." "Another woman walks right into our home, and here you are, sleeping like nothing's wrong?" I blinked, disoriented by his anger. "Huh? Who else is here?" Lucas furrowed his brows and fell silent, seemingly thrown by my response. It dawned on me what he meant. "She's not a stranger, after all." In fact, it wouldn't be long before she became the lady of this house. Lucas looked at me, let out a sigh, and finally just said, "Yesterday, I..." I waved my hand dismissively, cutting him off. "It's fine, I didn't wait long anyway. I finished all that work by myself." "You missed out, and that's your loss." After I said that, Lucas was momentarily speechless, then let out a soft chuckle. "Alright, it's my loss." "Then, will you take me to try it again next time?" I didn't think much of it and nodded. Then I pushed him toward the door. "I need to change." Once the door clicked shut, I sat on the bed, lost in thought for a long while. All of a sudden, in a fleeting moment, a cool sensation brushed across my face. I raised my hand to touch it, only then realizing, belatedly, that I was crying. How could I not be heartbroken? In these past days, if I'm honest, there were a few fleeting moments when I thought that maybe, just maybe, Lucas Bailey felt a little something for me. The way he'd held my hand at his cousin's baby shower. How he'd pulled me against him in bed after I helped with the Archer project. The small touches, the shared meals, the movie nights that had become our ritual. But he didn't care. Not really. Not in the way that mattered. Though, in truth, I lied to him too. I hadn't finished any work last night. I hadn't eaten anything. Whether our dinner reservation was good or not, I had no idea. And I wouldn't be taking him to eat again. Between us, this is how it ends. I wiped my tears and stood up, squaring my shoulders. Two years, he'd promised on our wedding night. We were closing in on that deadline now. It was time to start preparing for the end.