By the time I get home, the sun is rising high, and the sky is streaked with pink and gold. My building’s lobby smells like expensive flowers, replaced before they wilt. The doorman greets me by name.
“Good day, Mr. Ashford.”
I nod, distracted, and head for the elevator.
Up. Up. Up.
The doors open onto my floor, silent as a mausoleum.
My apartment unlocks with a soft beep, and the lights adjust automatically to whatever the algorithm thinks I want.
I don’t.
I kick off my shoes and drop my keys on the counter harder than necessary. The sound echoes. The space feels too big. Too empty.
I grab a glass of water and drink it standing up, then lean back against the island and let my mind drift back. Back to the heat of the bakery, the way the floor was worn smooth from decades of feet moving with purpose.
Tess had said, "Come back tomorrow”, like it was nothing.
Like it was everything.
I wonder what she thinks of me now that I’m gone. If she’s already dismissed me as another rich guy with a savior complex. If she’s rolling her eyes with Gwen, saying he won’t be back.
The thought stings.
Good. It should.
I want this to matter.
I shower, scrubbing flour off my arms, off my neck, watching it swirl down the drain like evidence. When I’m done, I stand there longer than necessary, letting the hot water pound against my shoulders.
I don’t feel clean.
I feel… reset.
I dress in a plain t-shirt and sweats and collapse onto the couch, staring at the ceiling.
My phone buzzes again.
This time, it’s not Marissa.
It’s a calendar reminder.
Dinner Alistair / Cipriani 8:00 PM
I snort.
No.
I delete it without a second thought.
The silence afterward is… strange. Usually, my evenings are scheduled down to the minute. Tonight, there’s nothing. No expectations. No performance.
Just me and the waiting.
I wonder what Tess’s life has been like.
I’ve earned money. Titles. Reputation.
