2

Tobias

I snatched the phone off the marble coffee table before the screen could fade to black. The name on the display burned into my eyes: Chloe Vale.

I didn't look at Valeria. I couldn't. I turned on my heel and walked straight toward my private study, shutting the heavy oak door behind me until the latch clicked into place.

I slid my thumb across the screen and brought the phone to my ear. "Chloe. It's late. What happened?"

"Tobias," Chloe's voice came through, trembling and thin. "I'm sorry to call you at midnight. But... I found some of Serena's old journals while clearing out Mom's attic. There are things in here about her final weeks. Things she never told anyone."

My chest tightened, a familiar, dull ache spreading behind my ribs. "What kind of things?"

"I can't explain over the phone," she whispered. "We need to meet. Please."

"Alright," I said, my voice flat, professional, masking the storm brewing inside. "Tomorrow. Send me the time."

I ended the call and let my hand drop to my side. The study was silent, illuminated only by the faint desk lamp.

I knew what I had done out there. I had seen the look in Valeria's eyes when I picked up that phone—the sharp, silent hurt that she always tried so hard to hide. She thought I was oblivious, but I saw it. I saw the way her shoulders slumped, the way her lips pressed into a fine line, the way she pulled her hand back as if I had burned her.

She deserved better. I wasn't blind. Valeria was gentle, patient, and quiet. For four years, she had stayed in this cold house, waiting for a husband who came home late, slept on his side of the bed, and rarely looked her in the eyes. Emotional distance had become my armor. It was the only way I knew how to survive after the crash.

Four years ago, my life had ended on a rain-slicked highway. Serena was gone in an instant, leaving behind a crater of grief that swallowed me whole. Months later, Valeria entered my life. She was a quiet, modest woman working at an art gallery my company sponsored.

When I first proposed, I told myself it was practical. My grandmother was pressuring me to marry, the board wanted stability, and Valeria was polite, graceful, and unobtrusive. I told myself her resemblance to Serena was just a coincidence—a convenient detail that made the transition easier.

I leaned back against my desk, closing my eyes. It was just practical, I lied to myself again. But deep down, in the dark corners of my mind I refused to visit, I knew the truth. The first time I saw Valeria standing under the gallery lights, her silhouette, the wave of her dark hair, the shape of her jaw—it had felt like seeing a ghost come back to life.

I pulled open the study door and walked back out into the living room.

The candles on the terrace had completely burned out, leaving trails of dried wax across the linen tablecloth. Two plates sat side by side, untouched. The steak was gray and cold; the chocolate dessert was melting under the humid night air.

Valeria was no longer there. The hallway was empty, the house completely silent.

I stood by the dining table for a long moment, staring at the cold plates. A strange, sharp knot formed in my stomach. Guilt. It was a faint, unfamiliar feeling, but it was there, heavy and uncomfortable. I had forgotten our anniversary. She had stayed up until midnight waiting for me, and I had walked out of the room to answer a call about a dead woman.

The next morning, my office on the top floor of the Hayes Enterprises tower was bathed in bright sunlight. I was reading through a quarterly financial report when the door opened without a knock.

Eleanor walked in, her golden cane clicking against the hardwood floor.

"Grandmother," I said, without looking up from my papers. "You should inform my secretary before walking in."

"I don't need permission to see my own grandson," Eleanor said, taking a seat in the leather chair across from my desk. She smoothed her silk skirt and looked at me with cold, calculating eyes. "I visited the mansion yesterday morning."

"I know. Mrs. Gable mentioned it."

"Valeria looked a mess," Eleanor said bluntly, her tone dripping with distaste. "Pale, miserable, wandering around the house like a ghost. She is becoming far too comfortable as Mrs. Hayes, Tobias. She acts as if she belongs there."

I paused, my pen hovering over the paper. "She is my wife, Grandmother. She belongs in my home."

Eleanor scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. "She is a temporary solution that has dragged on for four years. You gave her a ring and a name, but let's not pretend she is one of us. A girl from nowhere, with no family, no status, no backbone."

"That's enough," I said, my voice dropping an octave. I didn't yell. I never yelled. But the coldness in my voice made even Eleanor pause. "Valeria has done nothing wrong. Do not come into my office to insult her."

I shut down the insult, but I didn't truly defend her. I didn't tell Eleanor that Valeria was kind, or that she had taken care of this family's reputation without a single complaint. I just wanted the conversation to end.

Eleanor leaned forward, resting her hands on her cane. "Let's speak realistically, Tobias. The Hayes family needs an heir. You are thirty-four. You have been married for four years, and Valeria has produced nothing. No children. No social standing. Nothing."

My jaw tightened. "My private life and my marriage are none of your concern."

"It becomes my concern when the future of this family is at stake!" Eleanor snapped, her sharp eyes locking onto mine. "You built a wall around yourself after Serena died, and you used that girl as a shield so no one would ask you to move on. But you can't freeze time forever."

She stood up, holding her handbag tightly. She looked down at me with a cold, piercing glare.

"Answer me one thing, Tobias," she said quietly. "If Serena were alive today... would you still be married to Valeria?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and suffokating.

I looked at my grandmother. My lips opened, but no words came out. The silence in the office stretched on, loud and deafening.

Eleanor smiled faintly, a bitter, knowing smile. "That's what I thought," she whispered, turning toward the door. "Do not waste your life living with a shadow, grandson."

She walked out, closing the door softly behind her.

I sat alone in the massive office, the sunlight burning against my back. My chest felt hollow. I couldn't answer her. Because deep inside, where logic couldn't touch, I knew the answer. If Serena were alive, Valeria would never have existed in my world.

My phone buzzed on the glass desk, breaking the silence.

It was an email. A formal digital invitation from the Vale family foundation.

Annual Memorial Gala for Serena Vale. Honoring four years of her legacy.

Attached was a short note from Chloe: Tobias, we are holding the memorial next Saturday. Please come. It's time to remember her together.

I stared at the invitation. My thumb hovered over the screen.

I didn't call Valeria. I didn't ask her how her day was, or if she was still hurt about last night. I didn't tell her about the email.

I clicked Accept.