The penthouse was too quiet.
Not the comforting kind of quiet Malik used to wrap around her like a warm coat.
This was the brittle quiet —
the kind that filled every corner with the sound of things breaking.
Serena kicked off her heels,
dropping them onto the marble floor with a soft clatter.
Landon flopped onto the sectional without ceremony, scrolling mindlessly through his phone.
No "you looked beautiful tonight."
No "great job at the event."
Not even a lazy kiss.
Just silence and thumbs tapping against glass.
Serena lingered in the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of wine she barely wanted.
She needed to say something.
Anything.
Hold the pieces together a little longer.
"You could've been a little more present tonight," she said lightly, forcing a teasing tone into her voice.
Landon didn't even look up.
"What, you wanted me glued to your hip like a lapdog?"
The words weren't sharp.
They weren't even loud.
But they hit harder than if he'd shouted.
Serena blinked.
"I just meant—" she began, but he cut her off with a laugh.
"Relax, Serena. It's not always about you."
She stood frozen for a second, glass halfway to her lips.
Landon finally glanced at her —
and for the first time,
she saw it clearly.
The impatience.
The contempt.
The boredom.
He wasn't enchanted anymore.
He wasn't grateful anymore.
He was stuck.
And he resented it.
"You know," he said, stretching like a cat,
"maybe if you weren't so... clingy all the time, people would actually want to be around you."
He said it casually, like mentioning the weather.
Then he went right back to scrolling.
Serena set her glass down carefully before she shattered it.
The words lodged under her skin,
festering like a slow infection.
Clingy.
Desperate.
Unwanted.
She walked slowly across the room,
gripping the edge of the balcony door until her knuckles whitened.
The city stretched out below her —
cold, glittering,
utterly indifferent.
Behind her, Landon yawned and clicked on a late-night sports game,
already tuning her out.
Serena stared into the dark,
the faint reflection of her own face caught in the glass.
For the first time,
she let herself wonder:
Maybe it wasn't just the world that had changed.
Maybe it was her.
Maybe the fire had gone out.
Maybe she really was...
nothing more than a burden now.
But she didn't cry.
Not yet.
Not tonight.
There was still pride.
Still armor.
Still a little more pretending left to do.