Chapter 5

Days later, Bellmere received the rare blessing of good weather amid the usual early fall chill. The sunlight filtered in through the sheer curtains, softening the apartment's cold monochrome palette into something faintly resembling warmth.

It was 9:00 am on a Saturday. Silas stood in front of the full-length mirror in the walk-in closet, slowly buttoning the last button of a khaki casual shirt.

He was in a genuinely good mood today. As it was, he'd been preparing for this since Tuesday night. That was when Teresa, while staring at her phone, had responded with an unexpected hum of agreement. She'd agreed to clear half a day out of her weekend schedule to accompany him to an art exhibition.

It was an exclusive, invitation-only touring exhibition by a globally renowned spatial installation artist. The invitations were nearly impossible to obtain.

Silas had pulled favors through several industry contacts just to secure two VIP passes.

He had even done a site visit in advance and made a reservation at a restaurant near the venue, one with a selection of food that was light on the stomach.

"Teresa, we should get ready. The guided tour at the exhibition starts at 10:30 am…"

Silas turned around as he spoke, and the rest of his words died out in his throat.

Teresa wasn't picking out a casual outfit. She stood in front of the neatly organized row of business suits sorted by shade, already pulling out a sharply tailored white silk blouse and a black patterned blazer. Those were part of her usual battle outfit when she was seated at the negotiation table.

"I'm not going to the exhibition," she told him while buttoning up her blouse, without even bothering to look at him.

Her flippant tone made it sound like she was just stating something unimportant, like saying she didn't want to have eggs for breakfast.

Silas paused while adjusting his collar. "Did something urgent come up at the company?"

"Carlton just called." Teresa walked to the vanity table and picked out a bold shade of red lipstick. "He's connecting me with a few of the people running Seek Capital. They're all in Bellmere today. This is a rare opportunity for me to meet them, so I'm having lunch with them later."

Silas watched as she seamlessly turned herself into the picture-perfect image of an imposing CEO.

After a few seconds of silence, he said, "But on Tuesday, you promised me you wouldn't be arranging any work this afternoon."

Though he didn't raise his voice, it was loud enough in the stillness of the walk-in closet.

"The exhibition closes this afternoon. If we don't go today, we'd have to fly abroad to Palene to see it."

Teresa, who was putting on her makeup, paused. She looked into the mirror and stared at him through the reflection. Taking in his carefully pressed shirt, she frowned, her face morphing into the expression she had whenever confronted with an annoying problem.

"Silas, we're talking about Seek Capital right now."

She turned around, her tone carrying the type of patience one had when speaking to an underperforming intern. Once again, it felt like she was lecturing him.

"If I can close this deal, TRS Group's net profit for the second half of the year will go up by two percent. Opportunities like this don't come around whenever you want."

Silas met her gaze, his voice calm as he answered, "I know how important a deal with Seek Capital is. I know just how much money two percent represents. I just want to know one thing—in your schedule, can I ever, even once, be prioritized before your work?"

The air in the room froze instantly, and the way she looked at him shifted. She was now eyeing him like an incompetent employee who was questioning his superior.

"Are you seriously going to throw a tantrum right now?" Her voice turned sharp and icy. "Which is more important, work or seeing some stupid exhibition? If I lose a business opportunity, it's gone for good. What's the big deal about missing an exhibition?

"You're in your 30s, Silas. Can you grow up a little? Don't be so petty over something as unimportant as wanting companionship."

She was accusing him of being immature, the almost textbook display of gaslighting slapping him right in the face.

By her logic, the weekend outing he'd carefully prepared for them and his perfectly reasonable expectation for companionship as a husband had been summed up as a useless tantrum that wasn't even worth entertaining.

Because he didn't bring in any money. Because his art exhibition couldn't be transformed into an additional two percent of profit.

Silas stared at Teresa, his wife, who was all decked out to go to battle at the negotiation table. The whole situation felt laughable to him now.

It was indeed time for him to grow up. A grownup would've long seen by now that in this marriage, he was nothing more than a lowly employee who could be axed at any given moment.

"Fine," Silas said at last, swallowing the rest of what he'd wanted to say in his own defense.

His shoulders loosened. His expression returned to its usual neutral, harmless state.

"Go ahead. Drive safe."

He didn't argue with Teresa, nor did he question her. He didn't even give his usual reminder not to drink too much, lest it upset her stomach.

Instead, he simply turned around and walked out of the walk-in closet.

Teresa watched him go. For a split second, she felt like something was off. He'd compromised too easily and went along with it without too much protest. It was as if she'd geared up for a fight that didn't end up happening.

But that thought only lasted for a second. Her phone lit up. Carlton had sent her the address for the restaurant, so she immediately dismissed the feeling and left the apartment, her heels clacking.

Once the door closed, Silas walked to the entryway and picked up the two VIP invitation cards from the counter. It was made of premium-quality cardstock, with slightly sharp edges.

He stood in silence for a moment before slipping into a pair of shoes and exiting the apartment alone.

Only a handful of people were browsing the exhibition. Silas observed the massive installation on the theme of "space and solitude" for a very long time, the light illuminating his lean frame.

Teresa had been wrong about something earlier. Some things, once missed, were gone for good. A different city and a different time could just as easily change how a person felt.

Just like how his expectations continued to be neatly and deftly carved away, getting smaller bit by bit.

After leaving the exhibition, he didn't head to the restaurant he had booked. Instead, he bought a tuna sandwich and a bottle of mineral water from a convenience store and sat alone on a roadside bench for his meal.

Watching the traffic whiz past, he felt like the half-eaten sandwich he was holding, plain and readily disposable.

…

At 11:00 pm, the apartment was dark, with none of the ceiling lights on. Only a floor lamp beside the couch cast a faint glow over its surroundings.

Silas sat curled up on the couch with his iPad on his lap and an Apple Pencil in hand. He was obsessively refining the lighting renderings for the hotel lobby.

This was his survival mechanism. As long as his mind stayed occupied with Bezier curves and material textures, there was no space left for thoughts about what dinner meeting Teresa was attending tonight—or whether she'd thrown up again from drinking too much.

After completing a layer of his draft, he habitually checked the time on his phone. He hadn't received any missed calls or messages.

Silas paused briefly before, as if possessed, he checked his social media. He scrolled mechanically through the complaints from his fellow industry colleagues and ads from suppliers until he spotted something.

His thumb hovered in midair.

It was a post from the gentlemanly Carlton that caught his eye, one that had been posted five minutes ago. It wasn't a photo dump. There was only one image and a simple caption.

"Reconnecting with an old friend. Some things never change."

Silas stared at the photo. What he saw certainly couldn't count as a casual meal with some prospective business partners. He recognized the restaurant in the background. It was Ardor, the top-rated fine dining restaurant that was the hardest place to book in Bellmere.

Warm candlelight reflected off the silver cutlery. A bottle of Romanee-Conti sat on the table, already opened.

The camera faced the opposite side of the table, its subject artfully blurred, but not enough. Even though Carlton had done a pretty sophisticated job of masking who it was, Silas still recognized her with a single glance.

Her black blazer was slung over the back of her seat, and she sat there in just her white silk blouse. One hand, slender and steady, held a wine glass by the stem. Her nails had been painted a soft nude shade.

On her wrist was a Patek Philippe watch that gleamed in the light.

There was not a single investor or project proposal in sight, only expensive red wine, candles, and two "old friends catching up".

Right on the edge of the photo, a partially opened, deep-blue velvet gift box could be seen sitting on the table. Who knew what kind of "reunion gift" it housed?

This was the emergency work meeting that Teresa talked about, the one that could bring her an additional two percent of yearly profits—the one that warranted her vexed chastisement over his immaturity.

Silas stared at the glass of red wine glowing in the candlelight, his eyes seemingly burning from how bright the photo was.

It hit him then.

Teresa wasn't just a profit-driven robot after all. She was just as capable of romance and willing to spend her weekends having a romantic dinner with someone.

However, she had extremely high standards for the candidates who could receive such a gesture from her.

Expecting her to use her time on Silas was considered an immature request and the sign of a tantrum. But spending that time with Carlton, even when it was just to share a few glasses of red wine and catch up, could be framed as a strategic business move for the company.

Silas didn't like the post, nor did he post any sort of confrontation question below. He knew all too well how Teresa's logic worked.

He could already hear the retorts she'd give if he questioned her about this photo. "What's the big deal about having a simple chat after the meal? Can you stop being so narrow-minded?"

And after attacking him with those dismissive questions, she would once again label him as being emotionally unstable.

The apartment was silent, except for the soft hum of the air conditioner.

Silas slowly exhaled before closing the app and turning off his phone screen. He picked up his Apple Pencil and returned his gaze to the design draft on his iPad.

Back to work he went.