A few moments later, his wife, Lydia, glided down the winding staircase with her designer heels clicking sharply against the stone steps. She stopped briefly to inspect her appearance in the ornate hallway mirror before walking into the dining area with a practiced grace.
She leaned down to brush Julian’s cheek with a light kiss, a gesture that felt more like a social obligation than a moment of genuine connection. “Are you planning on being home at a decent hour tonight?” she asked casually as she poured herself a glass of water without making eye contact.
Julian kept his focus entirely on the digital charts in front of him. “I will try my best, but my schedule is packed with back to back meetings all afternoon, so it really depends on how things go.”
Lydia let out a slow sigh and her face tightened for a fleeting second before she regained her composed mask. “It always seems to depend on something else,” she murmured under her breath.
Julian chose not to respond because he had learned long ago that a strategic silence could end a difficult conversation much faster than an honest explanation.