Chapter 5: Silence

Julian

The door clicked shut behind Sarah.

Julian stood frozen, one hand still gripping the back of the chair like it was the only thing keeping him upright. On the table, steam still curled lazily from the plate of Jollof rice and suya she had prepared. The smell filled the kitchen — rich, spiced, familiar.

He hated how thoughtful it looked now.

A bitter breath escaped him, almost a laugh. Three years of marriage, and she had never once forgotten the small things. Never missed a detail that made this house feel like a home instead of just a building he owned.

His grip tightened until the wood creaked.

He should have seen it coming.

The alert about his mother’s medical trust had popped up previously— a flagged transaction, nothing dramatic at first. He’d almost ignored it. But when the numbers kept adding up, he’d pulled the full statement. Then he’d shown it to Genevieve.

She hadn’t pushed. She’d simply asked the obvious question.

“Who else has access, Julian?”

Only one name fit.

Sarah.

He turned away from the table, unable to look at the untouched food any longer. The quiet normalcy of it felt like a slap now — staged, calculated, just like everything else.

His feet carried him to the bar without thinking. The whiskey bottle was in his hand before he realized he’d reached for it. He twisted off the cap and took a long pull straight from the bottle. The burn slid down his throat, sharp and familiar.

It should have helped.

It didn’t.

All it did was sharpen the edges.

She had access.

She had taken the money.

Not once. Not by mistake.

Again and again.

Had she been planning to drain what she could and disappear? Had the last three years been nothing but a long con — the loyal wife act, the quiet support, the nights she sat beside him when he was too drunk to stand?

Julian’s jaw clenched.

He remembered the way she had looked at him earlier. The slight tremble in her voice when she said she didn’t know what the transfers were. The way her hand had instinctively moved to her stomach, as if protecting something.

For half a second, doubt had flickered.

Then he crushed it.

Evidence didn’t lie. Genevieve had been right all along. He had defended Sarah like a fool, and now the proof was sitting on his kitchen table in black and white.

The house felt too quiet.

It had always been quiet — he preferred it that way. Order. Control. But tonight the silence was maddening. No soft footsteps in the hallway. No distant clink of dishes. No small signs that someone else lived here.

Just emptiness.

He took another swig, longer this time, then set the bottle down harder than necessary. The sharp thud echoed through the kitchen.

Anger was easier than whatever this other feeling was — this ugly hesitation sitting under his ribs. The part of him that kept replaying the hurt in her eyes when he called her a thief.

He dragged a hand through his hair and exhaled slowly.

No. He wasn’t going to do this. Not tonight. Not after what she had done to his family.

He pulled out his phone.

His thumb hovered over Genevieve’s name for a moment — not out of doubt, but out of simple awareness. Calling her now would cross a line he had kept carefully drawn since she came back into his life.

Then his jaw set.

He pressed call.

The line rang once. Twice.

On the third ring, she answered, her voice smooth and warm, like honey over broken glass.

“Julian,” Genevieve purred. “I was wondering when you’d call.”