CHAPTER THREE: THE SPACE BETWEEN

She stood there in silence, one hand on the curtain, the other still clutching the zipper at her waist. Louis wasn’t checking his phone. He wasn’t rushing to leave. He simply sat in the driver’s seat, hands on the wheel, head tilted slightly toward the house as if he sensed something she couldn’t name.

A part of her wanted to go back outside. To say thank you. Or maybe nothing at all.

But dignity won.

She stepped back from the window and let the curtain fall.

---

In the walk-in closet, she peeled off the rest of her gown and let it puddle at her feet like silk regret. The silence of the house pressed in around her, too loud, too empty. She changed into a robe and padded barefoot into the bathroom. The tiles were ice-cold beneath her skin, but she welcomed it. A reminder she was still alive. Still feeling.

When she turned on the tap and let the hot water run, her reflection caught her off guard.

She looked… tired.

Not in the usual sense. Not from late nights or early meetings. But emotionally exhausted. Eyes hollow. Shoulders tight. Smile lines deepened not by laughter but from holding back every word that should’ve been spoken.

---

By the time she returned to the bedroom, Richard was there.

He didn’t look up from the tablet in his hand.

“Traffic must’ve been brutal,” he said dryly.

Lauren blinked. “I was home for over an hour.”

“Really?” He tapped the screen again. “Didn’t notice.”

Of course he didn’t.

She crossed the room and stood near the bed, arms folded over her robe. “Do you ever notice anything anymore, Richard? Anything real?”

He glanced at her briefly, his expression unreadable. “I noticed you looked stunning in that silver dress. The photographers loved it.”

She laughed under her breath—sharp, bitter. “So the illusion’s intact. That’s what matters, right?”

He finally set the tablet down. “You’re acting dramatic again, Lauren.”

“No. I’m acting like a woman who’s been ignored for months in her own marriage.” She took a shaky breath. “I don’t want to be your trophy anymore.”

He sighed like her pain was an inconvenience. “Then stop acting like one.”

The words stung.

Like he’d flicked a switch and turned off the last light of affection between them.

She stared at him, her voice quieter now. “Do you even love me anymore?”

His silence was deafening.

Lauren didn’t wait for a lie.

She turned and walked out.

---

Downstairs, the air was cooler.

She stepped outside through the kitchen patio, needing a breath, a minute, something real. The moon was full, casting pale light over the manicured gardens and the long, winding driveway.

But Louis’s car was gone.

Of course it was.

He didn’t live here. He stayed in a staff residence five minutes away, with the rest of the drivers, security team, and some private contractors. She’d heard about it once during a staff briefing—"a clean, quiet facility just off Lakewood Avenue."

But suddenly it felt too far.

Too out of reach.

Because he was the only one tonight who had looked at her like she mattered.

Not the photographers.

Not Richard.

Louis.

She sank onto a patio bench and closed her eyes, the night air brushing against her skin like the whisper of a memory she didn’t want to lose.

---

Louis

He’d driven off later than usual, despite knowing he should’ve left the moment she entered the house.

But something about Lauren’s stillness in the car. The way she’d spoken. The weight behind her silence.

It stayed with him.

Now, at the staff compound, he sat on a low bench in front of his unit, still in his uniform shirt, collar unbuttoned, tie gone. The place was quiet. The others were either asleep or on night shift rotations. Out here, it was just trees, breeze, and the occasional flicker of security lights.

But his mind was still back there—in that driveway.

On her.

Louis rubbed a hand over his jaw, frustration tugging at his gut. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything. Not for her. Not for a married woman. Not for his employer’s wife.

But Lauren Moree wasn’t just any woman.

She had a sadness that drew him in like gravity. Not loud. Not pitiful. Quiet. Controlled. But visible if you cared enough to look.

And Louis had looked.

God help him, he’d looked too long.

---

Lauren

She returned to bed after midnight, slipping in without a sound.

Richard was still awake, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

She didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

The space between them was more than physical. It was years of growing apart, of unsaid truths and nights filled with staged smiles. And now… even the silence between them had an edge.

---

The next morning was just as cold.

Richard was gone by the time she woke up. Typical. She didn’t even hear him leave.

She dressed in a pale linen jumpsuit, wrapped a scarf loosely around her neck, and headed downstairs where Louis waited beside the black Mercedes, door already open for her.

“Morning, ma’am,” he greeted with a nod.

Her eyes flicked to his for a moment. That same gentleness. That same awareness.

“Morning, Louis.”

She slipped into the car, and for the first time in a long time, she felt seen—even if only through the rearview mirror.