FOUR

By the third day, everyone knew.

Not because Julian said anything but because his life had begun to look wrong, very wrong.

The rumors started quietly. A whisper near the coffee machine. A glance exchanged when he walked past.

“Have you noticed him lately?”

“He looks like hell.”

“Didn’t his wife leave?”

Julian heard none of it. Or rather, he heard all of it and refused to acknowledge it.

He arrived late to the office for the second time that week, tie crooked, eyes bloodshot, jaw tight with a hangover he hadn’t bothered to mask. His executive assistant stood up immediately.

“Sir, your schedule ...”

“Cancel everything before noon,” he snapped, walking past her without looking. “And don’t bring me coffee. It tastes like mud.”

She blinked, startled.

Normally, his coffee was already waiting on his desk. Exactly how he liked it. No sugar. One splash of milk. The mug warmed.

Today, the desk was empty. Julian paused. Just for a second. Then he scoffed under his breath and dropped into his chair.

She probably forgot, he told himself. Or did it on purpose.

Either way, it didn’t matter.

Except it did, because when he reached into his drawer for painkillers, they weren’t there.

They were always there. Susan used to restock them. Quietly. Without being asked. Same with his vitamins. His handkerchiefs. His spare cufflinks.

Was she always this indispensible, woven deep into his life like an unnoticed invasive tendril.

He pushed the drawer shut harder than necessary, groaning angrily.

Across the office, heads dipped. Screens flickered. Conversations died the moment he passed.

By noon, his headache had grown teeth.

He skipped lunch. Again.

When he stood to leave, his jacket slid off the back of the chair, and landed on the floor in a wrinkled heap. Julian stared at it.

"I don’t need you", he had told her once, dismissively. The memory irritated him now.

That evening, he drank like someone trying to drown out a sound only he could hear.

The bar was loud. His friends were louder.

“Relax,” one of them laughed, clapping him on the back. “She’s just acting out.”

“Yeah,” another added. “She’s got nowhere to go. She’ll be back.”

Julian said nothing. He downed another glass.

When he finally stumbled home, the silence hit him like a wall.

The house was as dark as night. There were no soft footsteps hurrying toward him, asking if he’d eaten, if he was tired, if he wanted soup.

He kicked off his shoes and walked into the bedroom. Her side of the bed was cold, as if reflecting the icy feeling in his chest.

He woke up the next morning with a pounding head, a dry throat and a sharp ache in his chest that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

Julian sat up slowly, anger blooming where something softer threatened to surface.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. He found it hard to understand why she was still mad and not coming home.

He got dressed himself.

The suit didn’t quite match. Susan used to hang his out his jackets, ironed them if they creased and always laid out his ties the night before.

At the office, chaos greeted him.

“Sir!” His assistant rushed toward him, panic written across her face. “We have a situation.”

“What now?” he snapped.

“The main server has been compromised by a highly sophisticated malware".

Julian stopped walking. “How bad?”

She swallowed. “We’ve lost access to a protected database. Investor details. High-profile clients.”

The floor seemed to tilt.

“Fix it,” he said sharply. “Now.”

“We’ve tried. The IT team ...”

“Then get better people,” he roared. “What am I paying them for?”

A roomful of engineers stood frozen as he stormed in.

“Is there nobody competent here?” Julian demanded. “Nobody?”

One of them hesitated. Then spoke carefully. “Sir… the only time we’ve dealt with malware like this before, your wife handled it.”

Julian’s chest tightened.

The words echoed. Your wife.

Julian laughed once. “That’s impossible.”

The engineer shifted uncomfortably. “She had access to all our databases. She understood the system architecture better than anyone.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Julian snapped. “She didn’t even finish ...”

“How,” he said slowly, “would she know how to do that?”

No one answered.

His mind raced backward, late nights she spent on her laptop, screen dimmed. The files she closed when he walked in. The odd jobs she took up at the company.

He’d never asked for details, because he had never thought she mattered enough.

By evening, headlines screamed:

TECH GIANT LOSES MILLIONS AFTER SERVER BREACH. COULD PERSONAL TURMOIL BE TO BLAME?

One tabloid went further.

DID HIS WIFE’S DEPARTURE MARK THE BEGINNING OF THE FALL?

Julian crushed the newspaper in his fist.

His phone kept buzzing, lightening up each second from new notifications, mentions, DMs and calls from his family.

His name was trending for all the wrong reasons. he quickly ordered the PR team to take down the news from the trending online sites.

He stood alone in his office, city lights flickering beyond the glass, chest tight with something that felt dangerously like panic.

Who did I marry?

The thought landed heavy.

Slowly, he turned to his assistant. “Get me everything,” he said.

“Sir?”

“Every record. Every job. Every skill. Every information you can get your hands on.” His eyes darkened, “I want to know exactly who my wife was.”