CHAPTER TWO: THE THINGS WE DON'T SAY

Lauren

The ride home was silent, but her mind wasn’t.

She sat in the backseat of the sleek black Mercedes, eyes fixed on the blurred city lights outside, though she wasn’t seeing any of them. Her reflection in the window stared back at her—a polished woman in a designer gown, flawless makeup, and a distant look in her eyes.

She looked like someone else.

Not Lauren.

Not the girl she used to be.

And certainly not a woman in love with her husband.

Louis hadn’t said a word since they left the gala. Not even a polite, “Did you have a nice evening, ma’am?” He just drove—quiet, steady, professional. But she could feel his eyes in the rearview mirror now and then. Watching. Not in a predatory way. Not in the way men like Richard did. No, his was different.

Observing. Studying.

And worse... understanding.

That unsettled her.

Because she didn’t want to be understood.

Not by anyone. Especially not by her husband’s driver.

“Do you enjoy working for him?” she asked, her voice soft and sudden.

Louis’s eyes met hers briefly in the mirror. “I do what I’m paid to do, Mrs. Moree.”

Mrs. Moree.

That name used to thrill her. Now, it felt like a chain around her neck.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

A small pause.

“I suppose I don’t find it hard to do my job,” he said. “But enjoy? That’s a different matter.”

She smiled faintly. “Careful. Speaking like that could get you fired.”

“I doubt you’d tell him,” Louis said, tone even but sharp.

She arched a brow. “And why’s that?”

“Because if you were happy with him, you wouldn’t be asking your driver personal questions.”

That landed.

Lauren inhaled sharply and turned her gaze away, jaw tightening.

He wasn’t wrong.

But he shouldn’t have said it.

No one dared speak to her that way. Not even Richard. Especially not Richard. He preferred cold silence to confrontation.

And yet here she was—letting a stranger peel back layers she’d buried for years.

Richard Moree was powerful, brilliant, respected. Their marriage looked perfect on the outside—charity events, gala appearances, coordinated public smiles. But behind closed doors, it was nothing but silence and a king-sized bed colder than the marble floors of their mansion.

She hadn’t touched him in weeks. Months, maybe.

She’d stopped counting.

And he didn’t seem to notice.

Or care.

The car turned into their private estate, headlights sweeping over manicured hedges and towering palm trees. Lauren straightened her posture, preparing herself for what waited inside.

Another night in a loveless mansion.

Another cold conversation with a man who no longer looked at her like she was anything but a decorative trophy.

The gates opened and the Mercedes eased to a stop in front of the grand double doors. Louis stepped out and opened her door with that same quiet efficiency.

She stepped out slowly, the hem of her silver dress brushing the ground.

“Thank you, Louis,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

But he held the door open a moment longer, then said, “You looked unhappy tonight.”

She froze.

No one ever said things like that to her.

Everyone else complimented her dress, her figure, her beauty. No one noticed what was real beneath the surface. But Louis had. And he had the nerve to say it.

She turned her eyes on him. “You’re very bold.”

“I was trained to see what others ignore,” he replied, voice calm but intense. “And sometimes it’s hard to ignore sadness when it’s worn like perfume.”

Lauren didn’t know what to say to that. No witty comeback. No icy retort.

She just stared at him for a second too long, her pulse quickening in a way she didn’t like.

Finally, she looked away and walked toward the mansion.

She didn’t glance back.

But she felt him watching.

---

Louis

The moment she walked through the doors, he exhaled.

He hadn’t meant to speak that freely. But something about her provoked it.

Lauren Moree was everything a man like Richard didn’t deserve. Polished, intelligent, painfully lonely.

He’d read the file. Watched their body language at the gala. Observed the space between them during photo ops—the way Richard kept his hand on her back like she was property, and the way she leaned subtly away, like she couldn’t stand to be touched.

It wasn’t a marriage. It was a transaction.

And she was tired of playing the perfect wife.

He stepped back into the driver’s seat but didn’t leave immediately. Instead, he sat in the stillness of the car, her scent still lingering in the air—something floral but warm. Not the cold Chanel type. Something more… intimate.

He closed his eyes briefly.

This job was supposed to be simple.

But nothing about Lauren was simple.

And she wasn’t just Richard’s wife anymore.

She was his temptation.

And if he wasn’t careful, he’d find himself crossing a line he’d never come back from.

---

Inside the Mansion

Lauren entered the main hall, her heels clicking against the marble, and was met with silence.

The chandeliers sparkled above, the air lightly scented with white roses from the arrangements the housekeeper refreshed daily. But it still felt cold.

Too big. Too empty.

Richard was in the study, as usual. His voice floated down the hallway, low and clipped, probably on a business call. She didn’t bother checking in. He wouldn’t ask how the gala went. He never did. He’d only check the press photos in the morning and offer a nod of approval if she looked flawless enough.

She walked upstairs, unzipping her dress slowly. Each step, each breath, felt heavier than the last.

And when she passed the window that overlooked the driveway, she saw Louis still in the car.

Sitting.

Thinking.

And somehow… that comforted her more than anything Richard had done in months.