Lucas poured himself a drink. He hadn't really meant to—just saw the decanter sitting there, crystal catching the dull glow from the living room. The whiskey looked patient, almost expectant. He filled his glass halfway, then paused and added a little more. The ice clinked. In the empty house, it sounded way too loud.
He took a sip and felt the whiskey burn. Usually, he liked that. Tonight, it felt pointless, like he was trying to numb something he couldn't quite name.
The mansion was quiet. Not the usual, comfortable quiet, but a silence that felt hollow. Every little sound—his footsteps, the low hum of the AC—seemed to stand out, too sharp.
Lucas loosened his tie and set the glass on the coffee table. His eyes wandered around the living room. Something was off. The lamp by the window was gone. He frowned. That lamp had always been there. Nothing fancy, just a piece Evelyn picked because the light was softer in the evenings. Easier on the eyes, she'd said.
He'd never cared much about it before. Now, its absence made the room feel lopsided.
He drifted through the house, half-expecting someone—her—to appear around a corner. The kitchen looked spotless, but the signs were there if you looked. The spice rack rearranged. One less mug hanging on its hook. No more faint lavender in the air.
He opened the fridge. Bare. She used to keep it full, even though she barely cooked anymore. "Just in case," she'd told him once, smiling when he'd asked. He slammed the door shut, harder than he meant to.
"She chose to leave," he muttered. It came out sharp, defensive. He grabbed his glass and finished it in one gulp.
He didn't feel any better. If anything, the hollow feeling just dug in deeper.
He headed upstairs. His footsteps echoed on the marble steps, reminding him he was the only one left to hear them. The bedroom door was open. The bed was made. Too made. Evelyn always insisted on that. Even when she was dead tired—the pillows lined up, the duvet smoothed out. A little order, where she could find it.
Lucas stopped in the doorway. The room felt different—colder, stripped of its usual warmth. He walked over to the wardrobe and opened it. Half empty. Her dresses gone. The blouses she liked, those muted colors. The coats she wore to charity events. Just his stuff left now.
He pulled open a drawer. Empty. That's where she kept his ties. He stared at it for a while, longer than he needed to. He remembered coming home late, finding his ties laid out, colors lined up, knots loosened. He'd never thanked her. He'd just expected it.
His jaw tightened. He slammed the drawer shut and turned away, irritation curling in his chest. He shrugged off his jacket, hesitated with his watch. Evelyn always used to take it from him, set it neatly on the nightstand. He did it himself this time.
The silence pressed in. Lucas lay down on his side of the bed and stared at the ceiling. The other side stayed untouched, sheets smooth and cool. He shifted, fluffed his pillow, frowned when it didn't feel right. He reached out without thinking—
And stopped. No one there.
His phone sat on the nightstand, screen black. He turned it on. Nothing. No messages, no missed calls.
Lucas let out a slow breath. He told himself this was just a blip. Evelyn was emotional, impulsive. She always pulled away when things got too much. She'd calm down. She'd realize this wasn't realistic. She'd call.
The thought felt empty, even to him.
He closed his eyes. Sleep didn't come. Minutes dragged out. His mind kept looping back—random, stupid memories crowding in. Evelyn reminding him to eat. Evelyn whispering a donor's name so he wouldn't embarrass himself. Evelyn standing next to him at some gala, smiling politely while his family made snide comments.
He'd never asked her how that felt. He'd never really asked much at all.
He sat up, grabbed his phone. Typed her name, thumb hovering over the call button. Then he remembered—she'd already ignored his call earlier.
That stung more than he'd expected.
He set the phone down and rubbed his temples. He'd built his entire life around control—markets, deals, outcomes. Evelyn had always been steady, quietly there. Now, she was the one thing he couldn't manage.
Evelyn slept deeply across the city. Her bed wasn't big, her room wasn't fancy, but at least here, no one wanted anything from her except the truth.
Lucas had no clue about any of that.
He only knew the night felt endless. It pressed in, sharp and honest, making everything impossible to hide.
When morning finally came, pale light started crawling through the windows. Lucas hadn't slept a minute. He stood there, staring out at the city waking up below, and something inside him shifted, just a little.
This wasn't relief. It wasn't freedom.
It was just emptiness.
For the first time, Lucas Vale saw it, clear as day—his house was never really empty before. He just never bothered to notice who was there.