**Maya's POV**
Two weeks into marriage, and I barely saw my husband.
Ethan left for work before I woke up and came home after I'd gone to bed—if he came home at all. The penthouse felt more like a mausoleum than a home, filled with expensive furniture and crushing silence.
I stood in the kitchen Wednesday morning, making coffee for one again, when I heard his voice from the living room.
"Absolutely, Serena. Eight o'clock works perfectly."
Serena. He'd mentioned her in passing during one of our rare encounters—his childhood friend, some socialite who ran in his circles. The warmth in his voice when he said her name was something I'd never heard directed at me.
"No, I'm free all evening," he continued. "Maya has her own plans."
News to me, since my plans consisted of eating takeout and working on design projects in my room.
I heard his footsteps approaching and quickly busied myself with my coffee, not wanting him to know I'd been listening.
