I didn't eat dinner. I sat in the middle of the massive velvet sofa in our living room, staring at the pitch-black TV screen, waiting.
I waited in silence as the city lights flickered on outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the skyline into a sea of artificial stars. I waited until I was utterly exhausted and finally slipped into sleep.
The sound of the heavy wooden door opening jolted me awake. It was 1:15 AM.
Silas stepped inside, moving carefully to avoid making noise. When he flipped on the dim foyer light, he suddenly froze, our eyes meeting across the expansive room. He was impeccably dressed, though looking slightly weary, his tie loosened.
He frowned slightly. "Why are you still up?"
"I fell asleep on the couch," I said, forcing a soft, practiced smile onto my lips. "I woke up when I heard the door."
Silas gave a vague "Mm," his face returning to its usual calm, unreadable expression.
I stood up, my joints aching, and walked over to help him off with his coat.
As I took the heavy wool overcoat from his shoulders, a scent hit me. It was his cologne mixed with a sweet floral note. Gardenia.
The scent clawed its way into my nasal cavity, cloying and pungent. It was Serena's signature perfume.
My stomach churned violently, a wave of nausea washing over me, and I had to grip the coat tightly just to steady myself.
On the very night I was handed a death sentence, my husband had thrown himself entirely into rekindling a connection with his newly single ex-girlfriend.
