Chapter 79 – Distance Under One Roof
The ride home was silent.
Not the comfortable kind.
Not the quiet that came from exhaustion or peace.
This one had edges.
Sharp.
Breathing between them like a third person in the car.
Amber stared out the window the entire time.
City lights streaked past in gold and white lines, blurring like tears she refused to shed.
Her reflection in the glass looked calm.
Untouched.
Unbothered.
Exactly how she wanted the world to see her.
Inside, though—
Everything felt messy.
Unstable.
Too loud.
Alex sat beside her, one hand resting on his knee, the other loosely holding his phone.
He wasn't scrolling.
Wasn't working.
Just… still.
Watching her.
She could feel it.
That quiet, observant gaze.
It usually made her feel safe.
Tonight it made her feel exposed.
"Amber," he said finally.
She didn't turn.
"Don't," she replied softly.
One word.
Flat.
Final.
He stopped.
The rest of the drive passed without another sound.
—
The penthouse doors opened.
They stepped inside together.
Still strangers.
Still married.
Still pretending.
The irony almost made her laugh.
The lights flicked on automatically, warm and golden across the marble floors.
Too warm.
Too domestic.
Too intimate.
Like a home.
But it didn't feel like one tonight.
It felt like a stage.
And they were actors who forgot their lines.
Amber slipped off her heels near the entrance.
Didn't look at him.
Didn't speak.
Just walked straight toward the stairs.
"Are you going to keep avoiding me?" Alex's voice followed.
She stopped mid-step.
Her back still facing him.
"I'm tired."
"That's not what I asked."
She closed her eyes.
Counted to three.
If she turned around, she might say something she couldn't take back.
Or worse—
something honest.
"I don't want to fight," she said.
"Then don't."
"It's not that simple."
"It never is with you," he said quietly.
Something about that line snapped her patience.
She turned.
Finally faced him.
"And what does that mean?"
"It means you shut me out every time something gets uncomfortable."
Her laugh came out humorless.
"Uncomfortable?"
"Yes."
"You think this is just uncomfortable?"
"What is it then?"
She stared at him.
Really stared.
Trying to understand how he could look so composed.
So steady.
Like tonight hadn't meant anything.
Like Victoria hadn't existed.
Like Amber wasn't slowly tearing herself apart inside.
"You wouldn't understand," she said.
"Try me."
Dangerous.
He sounded too calm.
Too reasonable.
Like he expected logic.
But jealousy wasn't logical.
Fear wasn't logical.
Love definitely wasn't logical.
She looked away first.
"That's exactly the problem," she whispered.
—
Later that night, the distance became physical.
Deliberate.
Painfully obvious.
Two bedrooms.
Two closed doors.
Two separate worlds.
The contract had always stated separate rooms.
It had never bothered her before.
Tonight it felt like rejection.
Like a reminder.
Temporary.
Amber changed into an oversized shirt and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Sleep refused to come.
Her mind replayed everything.
Victoria's voice.
"I'll always care about you."
Alex's silence.
"Do you love her?"
"…That's not relevant."
Her chest tightened again.
Stupid.
So stupid.
Why did she expect anything else?
This started as a deal.
A transaction.
A strategy.
She knew that.
She agreed to it.
So why did she feel like she'd just lost something that was never hers to begin with?
Her phone buzzed.
A notification.
She almost ignored it.
But curiosity won.
A news alert.
Wilson Group President Seen Reuniting With Former Fiancée at Charity Gala. Old Flames Rekindled?
There was a picture.
Blurry.
But clear enough.
Alex and Victoria standing close.
Talking.
Intimate.
Wrong angle.
Wrong timing.
Wrong story.
The media never needed truth.
Just implication.
Amber locked her phone immediately.
Didn't want to look.
Didn't want to feel.
"Good," she muttered.
"This is good."
This was safer.
If he still had someone else in his heart—
Then she could keep hers guarded.
No risk.
No heartbreak.
No falling.
Her chest ached at the lie.
—
Across the hall, Alex wasn't sleeping either.
He stood near his window, tie discarded, shirt half unbuttoned.
His jaw tight.
Mind louder than usual.
He replayed the hallway conversation again and again.
Amber walking away.
Her voice cold.
Her eyes hurt.
She had heard.
Of course she had.
And she misunderstood.
Of course she did.
He should explain.
Should knock on her door.
Should fix it.
But something stubborn held him back.
Pride.
Or fear.
Because explaining meant admitting things he'd buried for years.
Things he didn't know how to say out loud.
And if he said them—
It would stop being a contract.
It would become real.
And real things could be taken away.
He had already lost someone once.
He wasn't sure he could survive losing Amber too.
So instead—
He stayed where he was.
Silent.
Like an idiot.
—
Days passed like that.
Cold.
Polite.
Careful.
They moved around each other like coworkers.
Not a couple.
Not even friends.
Breakfast schedules shifted.
She left early.
He came home late.
Conversations reduced to logistics.
"Meeting at nine."
"I'll be out tonight."
"Driver's waiting."
"Okay."
No teasing.
No arguments.
No fire.
Just—
nothing.
And somehow that hurt worse.
Because anger meant feeling.
This emptiness meant they were already giving up.
—
One evening, Amber came downstairs to find him in the kitchen.
Sleeves rolled up.
Making coffee.
Domestic.
Quiet.
Normal.
It should have been comforting.
Instead, it felt fragile.
Like glass.
They both paused when their eyes met.
Neither spoke.
The air felt too thick.
Too aware.
She reached for a mug.
Their fingers brushed.
Just barely.
Electric.
Instant.
Too familiar.
She pulled back like she'd been burned.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
Something flickered in his eyes.
Pain.
But he masked it fast.
"Your coffee," he said, sliding it toward her.
"Thanks."
Their voices sounded formal.
Stranger-like.
She hated it.
But didn't know how to fix it without breaking first.
So she chose distance.
Again.
Always distance.
"Don't wait up tonight," she added.
"Work?"
"Yes."
A lie.
She just didn't want to be here.
Didn't want to feel him in every room.
Didn't want to care this much.
He nodded once.
"Okay."
That was all.
No stopping her.
No questions.
No fight.
For some reason—
That hurt the most.
—
When the door shut behind her, Alex exhaled slowly.
The penthouse felt bigger.
Colder.
Too empty.
He looked down at the untouched second cup of coffee he had made out of habit.
For her.
It went cold on the counter.
Just like everything between them.