Ivan carried Eleanor's dinner upstairs himself.
He had barely eaten at dinner, and the taste of the food had long since faded from his mouth. The tray was warm against his palms as he climbed the stairs, the quiet of the estate settling around him with each step. Somewhere downstairs, a staff member was clearing the dining table. The faint clink of cutlery followed him briefly before the corridor swallowed the sound.
At their bedroom door, Ivan paused.
Then he entered quietly.
Eleanor was still in bed, wearing the white bathrobe she had worn when the staff called for her. She lay facing away from him, her head resting against the pillow, her long auburn hair falling loosely across it.
Ivan closed the door without a sound.
He crossed to the bedside and placed the tray on the drawer before sitting on the edge of the mattress. The bed dipped slightly beneath his weight.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
His voice was softer than he intended.
Eleanor nodded without turning around.
Ivan watched her for a moment.
"I brought your dinner."
"Thanks, but I'm not hungry."
He nodded, although she couldn't see him.
"I'll leave the food here."
Eleanor rolled her eyes.
Of course.
She swallowed, her throat tightening as she stared at the pillow in front of her. She could hear the faint rustle of his clothes as he shifted beside her, but she kept her face turned away.
Ivan remained seated for another moment before getting to his feet.
The questions rose and died before reaching his lips.
He glanced at her.
Then, instead of leaving immediately, he bent and kissed the top of her head.
Eleanor's fingers tightened around the sheets.
Ivan felt the movement beneath his hand.
His jaw clenched.
For a moment, he remained bent over her, his lips pressed together. Then he straightened, his expression carefully composed, and looked at her once more.
She still hadn't turned around.
Ivan left.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Eleanor released the sheets slowly. Her fingers ached where she had gripped the fabric, and she curled them against her palm before wiping away the tears that had escaped down her cheeks.
She looked toward the door.
The tray sat untouched on the bedside drawer.
Ivan went straight to his office.
He closed the door, crossed the room, and dropped into his chair, his hand gripping the armrest as he leaned back. His jaw was still clenched. He turned toward the window.
The grounds lay beneath the night sky, the garden lights tracing pale lines along the paths. Beyond them, the trees stood dark and still.
The office was exactly as he had left it. His papers remained arranged on the desk, his laptop sat closed beside them, and the glass of water he had poured earlier was still within reach.
He didn't move to any of it.
His gaze remained fixed on the darkness beyond the glass.
At one of the Hastings penthouses in The Hamptons, a woman sat on a cream-coloured sofa with a glass of wine in her hand.
The penthouse was quiet, its lights casting a warm glow over the living room. Beyond the tall windows, the night stretched over the grounds, the distant lights of neighbouring properties scattered against the darkness.
She wore a dark maroon silk nightgown beneath a loosely draped robe. The lace caught the light as she shifted her crossed legs, revealing a dark brown garter. Her shoulder-length hair framed her face, the short bangs resting just above her eyebrows.
She looked beautiful.
She took a sip of wine and slowly swirled the glass.
The keypad beside the entrance sounded.
The door opened and Andrei stepped inside.
He entered the code to lock the door behind him, removed his coat, and hung it in the closet near the entrance. After changing into his indoor slippers, he placed his shoes on the rack beside the coat closet.
His movements were familiar, almost automatic.
The woman on the sofa didn't get up.
Andrei approached her and bent to embrace her. She slipped her free arm around his back, allowing him to kiss her cheek before returning her attention to her wine.
For a moment, he held her a little longer than necessary.
She smelled of her perfume and wine, with the faintest trace of the lotion she used after bathing.
He released her and sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. Then he reached for her hand.
She let him take it.
Andrei lifted her fingers to his lips, brushing a kiss against her knuckles.
"I've missed you," he murmured.
He glanced up at her with a small smile, hoping for something in return.
She regarded him for a long moment.
Then she hummed.
"Hmm."
Her eyes rolled toward the ceiling, and her lips remained pursed.
Andrei's smile faltered.
He lowered her hand, although he did not release it immediately.
"Claire," he said with a weary sigh. "Don't do that. Please. Not you. Not now."
Something in her expression changed.
Not dramatically.
She simply looked down at his hand around hers, as if she had only just noticed it was there.
Then she pulled away.
The movement was so sharp that one of her long, deep-red nails nearly scraped against his skin.
Andrei winced, biting into his cheek.
Claire stood, keeping the glass of wine in her hand. She drew her robe more securely around herself and started toward the stairs.
Andrei rose with almost impossible speed and caught her arm.
She turned on him and wrenched it free.
"Don't touch me."
The words landed between them with a force that made him stop.
Andrei lowered his hand.
"Claire, please. I need you."
A dry chuckle escaped her.
"Of course you do. You're never here unless you need me."
She turned away, then stopped as if remembering something important.
"Oh, no. That's terribly delusional of me." Her mouth curved into a thin smile. "You need my body, not me."
Andrei dragged a hand over his face.
"Claire, that's not fair. You know that's not true."
She tilted her head.
She looked at him without expression and took another sip of wine.
He ran his fingers through his hair, drawing a breath before speaking again.
"Claire, you know I love you."
For a second, she stared at him.
For the first time since he had entered the penthouse, she looked genuinely still.
Her lips parted slightly.
Then she laughed.
The sound began quietly, almost under her breath, almost disbelieving, before rising into a dry, humourless laugh that filled the space between them. She shook her head, her eyes glistening as she looked at him.
Andrei stood still.
Claire's laughter gradually subsided. She lowered her glass, still smiling.
"Come on. Don't be cynical, Andrei, just to humour me." She paused, her gaze fixed on his face. "We both know I'm your kept woman. And I have been for the last seven years."
Andrei's lips parted, but she continued before he could speak.
"We both know why you're here, but I'm tired. I'm not in the mood, so be a darling and make yourself comfortable."
She gestured vaguely toward the room.
"Besides, it's yours, after all."
Her smile remained in place.
"Or return to your loving family."
She turned toward the stairs.
"I'm off to bed. Goodnight."
Andrei watched her ascend without waiting for his response.
He remained where he was, his hands buried in his hair, his teeth pressing into the inside of his cheek.
Claire reached the top of the stairs.
She didn't look back.
Andrei's hands fell slowly to his sides as her footsteps faded upstairs.