CHAPTER FOUR: THE ROOM WAS NEVER MEANT FOR TWO

The Morees arrived at The Sterling Monarch just before noon.

It was the finest hotel in Montclair—a sleek glass tower that shimmered under the sun, boasting marble floors, a rooftop bar, and a guest list that included celebrities, diplomats, and billionaires alike. The bellboys greeted Richard by name. Of course they did. He’d stayed here more times than she could count.

Lauren walked beside him through the grand lobby, her heels tapping against polished stone, a designer suitcase rolling smoothly behind her. Louis trailed behind them at a respectful distance, his crisp white shirt and dark trousers blending in easily with the professional air around them.

She hadn’t spoken a word since they left the house.

And neither had Richard.

At the front desk, the concierge smiled brightly. “Mr. and Mrs. Moree, welcome. Your suite is ready—penthouse level.”

Richard didn’t glance her way as he signed the forms.

He didn’t hold her hand.

He didn’t look at her when they entered the gold-trimmed elevator and rode up to the top floor in silence.

---

The penthouse was breathtaking—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the river, a private terrace with loungers, a claw-foot tub, velvet drapes, champagne in a chilled bucket on the coffee table.

But to Lauren, it felt sterile.

Cold.

A performance set for two leads who had long stopped acting.

She walked slowly through the living room while Richard took a call in the adjoining study, already halfway through his schedule. Meetings. Contracts. A press dinner. Always something.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he muttered in passing, phone pressed to his ear. “I’ll be in and out.”

She turned to him then. “Are we even having dinner together?”

He paused at the doorway, his gaze barely flicking over her. “If it doesn’t run late.”

And with that, he disappeared again.

---

It was three hours before Lauren emerged from the suite.

She wore a soft, champagne-colored silk blouse tucked into tailored beige slacks—elegant, subtle, safe. Her hair was twisted up in a loose bun, a few strands grazing her cheek. Minimal makeup. Just enough to shield the fatigue beneath her eyes.

She stepped into the hallway and found Louis waiting by the elevator.

He straightened the moment he saw her.

“Ma’am,” he greeted with a nod. “Do you need the car?”

She hesitated. “Actually… I thought I’d walk around. Maybe grab coffee.”

He looked momentarily unsure. “Would you like me to escort you?”

A soft smile touched her lips. “Please.”

They exited through the side entrance of the hotel to avoid paparazzi. Lauren walked a step ahead at first, sunglasses shielding her eyes, her hands clasped tightly around her small clutch.

Louis followed, silent, composed.

Until they reached the café.

It was a small place tucked between luxury boutiques and a flower shop. Quiet. Hidden. She slipped into a corner booth by the window and motioned for him to join her.

“You don’t have to stand outside,” she said.

He hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

He slid into the seat opposite her.

The waitress came. Lauren ordered a cappuccino. Louis asked for a black coffee. And for a moment, the world felt still.

No cameras. No Richard. No rehearsed smiles.

Just them.

---

“You’ve been here before?” she asked, stirring her drink absently.

“Once or twice,” he replied. “When I worked for the hotel fleet.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You drove for them?”

“Luxury clients. VIP pickups. Before I switched to private contracts.” He sipped his coffee, then added, “This town’s quieter than the city. People notice more here.”

“Like what?”

He looked at her, eyes steady. “Who’s happy. Who’s pretending.”

Her breath caught slightly, but she masked it with a sip.

Silence lingered.

Then she asked, “What do you notice about me, Louis?”

The question surprised even her.

He didn’t flinch. “That you hold your breath a lot. Like you’re always waiting for something.”

She stared at him, unsure whether to be angry or exposed.

He looked away first, giving her space.

“I’m sorry if that was too—”

“No,” she interrupted. “You’re not wrong.”

The cappuccino had gone cold. She pushed the cup aside.

“You know,” she murmured, “Richard hasn’t kissed me in weeks. Maybe months. I can’t even remember the last time he looked at me like I was… his.”

Louis’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

She blinked quickly, realizing she’d said too much.

“This isn’t your problem,” she added, suddenly self-conscious.

He leaned forward, his voice quiet. “I’m your driver, Mrs. Moree. That means wherever you go, I see it. All of it.”

The way he said her name—Mrs. Moree—made her feel like both a stranger and something more.

It thrilled and terrified her at once.

---

They walked back slowly.

The sun had begun to dip, casting long shadows along the cobblestone streets.

When they reached the hotel entrance, Lauren turned to him.

“You can head back to the quarters for now,” she said softly. “I’ll call if I need you.”

He nodded, eyes lingering on her for a second too long. “Of course.”

---

Back in the suite, the silence was louder than before.

Richard hadn’t returned.

The champagne was still untouched.

The bed was perfectly made.

It was nearly 9 p.m. when she received a brief text:

“At a late dinner with the team. Don’t wait up.”

That was it.

Lauren stood on the balcony in her robe, overlooking the glittering city, feeling like the loneliest woman in the world.

And even though she was married and lodged in a room built for lovers—

She slept alone.

Again.