The sound of his name landed heavily, as if the air itself had thickened around him. He turned slowly, his confident posture faltering as recognition set in. Standing near the entrance, framed by the glass doors and city lights beyond, was his wife.
Daphne Langley did not look surprised to see him. She did not look angry either. She wore a charcoal suit that fit her flawlessly, her hair pulled back with deliberate neatness, her expression calm in a way that unsettled him far more than shouting ever could.
“Daphne,” he said, his voice tightening. “What are you doing here.”
She approached without haste, her heels echoing softly against the floor, each step measured and unhurried.
“I could ask you the same,” she replied evenly. “Although I already know the answer.”
Kira stiffened beside him, confusion flickering across her face. “Is this your wife,” she asked in a whisper that carried farther than she intended.
“Yes,” Daphne said before Peter could speak. “I am his wife. And you must be Kira Sutton, from the regional sales team at his firm.”
Kira’s face drained of color. “How do you know my name.”
