The weeks after Charlotte's silent protest in the studio were colder than anything before.
She withdrew completely, becoming a quiet presence at the edges of Lucas's life. She was always perfectly dressed, calm, and wordless.
She attended galas and corporate dinners on his arm, smiling when expected, moving gracefully through the room.
But her eyes were empty, focused on something far beyond the bright lights and polite conversations.
The woman he had married was gone. In her place stood a flawless shell.
And Lucas, to his irritation, found that he missed her.
He missed the arguments. He missed her failed attempts to pull him into conversation. He even missed the faint smell of paint that used to cling to her hair.
The silence he had worked so hard to build no longer felt controlled. It felt heavy. Less like protection, more like burial.
The feeling unsettled him and showed itself in ways he didn't like. His attention drifted during meetings. Numbers blurred, replaced by the memory of her face in a half forgotten painting.
He lashed out at a junior executive over a small mistake, harsher than usual.
His father's voice echoed in his head: Emotions are a liability.
He responded the only way he knew how that by working more, longer hours, more focus. He buried himself in figures and schedules, trying to crush the unfamiliar warmth rising in his chest.
The incident happened on a Tuesday.
He was in the middle of a crucial negotiation, the final meeting of a takeover he had planned for months. Everything was ready.
The opposing CEO, tired and desperate, made a last emotional appeal, talking about loyalty, employees, and family history.
Lucas was about to end it when his phone vibrated.
Normally, he would have ignored it.
Something made him answer.
"What is it?" he said sharply.
"Sir," the head of security said, his voice tense, "it's Mrs. Sterling. There was an incident on the main balcony."
Cold spread through Lucas's body.
"Is she all right?" he asked, his voice lower, stripped of irritation.
"She fainted, sir. The doctor is with her now. Severe dehydration and exhaustion. She hasn't been eating."
He ended the call.
The room around him full with executives, contracts, the deal itself is ceased to matter.
He stood suddenly, the chair scraping loudly behind him.
"The meeting is over," he said flatly.
Then he walked out.
He didn't care what it cost.
For the first time in his life, a deal meant less than a person.
He rushed home, the city passing in a blur. When he reached the penthouse, he went straight to the bedroom. Charlotte lay on the bed, an IV line taped to her arm. She looked small beneath the sheets, her skin pale, her breathing shallow.
The doctor explained quietly that she was dangerously malnourished. She had simply stopped caring for herself.
Lucas stood beside the bed, staring down at her, and something inside him collapsed.
This wasn't drama.
This wasn't manipulation.
This wasn't an "unproductive state."
This was his wife disappearing in front of him.
The silence he had built so carefully wasn't just lonely rather it was harmful. The belief system he had inherited and defended all his life broke apart under the weight of what he was seeing.
He reached out, his hand unsteady, and brushed a strand of hair away from her face.
Her skin was cool.
The touch hit him harder than any argument ever had. It was simple, human, and terrifying. He wanted to hold her. To protect her. To say something, anything that might pull her back.
But he didn't know how.
He had mastered numbers, power, and control.
The language of care, of apology, of love, a language he had never learned.