4. The Void She Left
Chapter four
The Void She Left
The doors swung shut, cutting off the draft from the grand foyer.
Wren was gone. The ruined gender-reveal cake sat undisturbed in the center of the table, pink confetti scattered across the white linen.
Arthur’s spilled red wine soaked into the fabric near her empty chair.
A sudden, sharp silence stretched across the massive room.
The hired waitstaff stood frozen near the butler’s pantry. Nobody moved to clear the red stain or retrieve the abandoned diamond ring resting near the fine china. Her dramatic exit left a lingering tension in the room. I kept my eyes locked on the doors she had just pushed through.
I stepped away from the table, my boots scraping against the floorboards as I prepared to go after her. She had never walked out of family events in silence.
A voice broke the quiet from the far end of the table.
“Did she actually just leave the room?” my cousin Julian whispered.
“Right in the middle of the service,” his wife murmured back. “Without saying a word.”
Dozens of eyes shifted toward me. The gossiping murmurs multiplied, drifting up into the high ceilings. I needed to cross the room and shut down the spectacle. Before I could take another step, a hand grabbed my forearm.
Vanessa stepped in front of me, her grip tightening on my arm so hard I had to stop. She pulled, guiding me to my empty seat at the head of the table.
I gave in. I sank down, my back pressing against the dining chair. Chasing a sulking wife into the foyer would only give my cousins more ammunition for their group chats and escalate a minor domestic dispute into an embarrassing public scene.
Vanessa released my sleeve. She reached across the table, her fingernails clicking against the crystal decanter. She lifted it and tipped it over the rim of my tumbler, the amber scotch splashing over the remaining ice cubes.
“Let her go, Cassian,” Vanessa said, keeping her voice low enough to exclude the staring relatives. “You handled that well. De-escalating is the best way to manage this in front of the guests.”
I picked up the tumbler. The condensation chilled my thumb. The absence Wren had left behind rattled my nerves. Usually, she stayed to argue her case, or at least raised her voice. Vanessa made a valid point, though.
Going after my wife would only validate the meltdown. She needed a minute to breathe upstairs in one of the guest suites. I took a long drink of the scotch, letting the harsh heat of the alcohol ground me.
“She is being unreasonable tonight,” I said, staring at the cake. “I told her we needed a quiet dinner to celebrate.”
Vanessa slid her hand back to her own lap. “She took a simple comment the wrong way.”
“She picked a fight with my father in front of the whole family,” I added, the irritation replacing my initial panic. “It makes us look ridiculous.”
Vanessa took a sip from her own wineglass and offered me a sympathetic smile, silently taking my side. I told myself Wren would be waiting for me in the bedroom when the night ended. She had always let these arguments go.
“She is just hormonal, Cassian,” Vanessa said. “She’s always been insecure about not fitting in with your relatives, so have a drink and let her cool off.”
My father did not waste time staring at her vacant seat. He reached for his silverware, entirely ignoring her absence. He gripped his steak knife and plunged it into the roasted quail on his plate. He sliced through the meat, the blade scraping against the porcelain.
Arthur chewed his food, his expression stony. He swallowed and pointed the tip of his knife at a passing waiter.
“Tell the staff to keep pouring the wine,” Arthur ordered. “We aren’t pausing the service for a tantrum.”
The waiter nodded, hurrying away to signal the kitchen.
On the other side of the abandoned setting, my mother’s reaction was just as dismissive.
Octavia picked up her fork, dragging a small piece of quail through the wine-reduction sauce.
She took a delicate bite, looking completely unbothered by the empty seat.
The rich, savory scent of the catered dinner wafted across the table, mixing with the smell of the ruined cabernet.
My parents could be brutal. It pissed me off to watch them brush Wren aside like a minor inconvenience, but blowing up the entire dinner over a petty jab wasn’t going to help anything.
“Leaving a plated dinner to sulk,” Arthur said, cutting another piece of meat. “I warned you about marrying a woman with no concept of social endurance, Cassian.”
I set my tumbler of scotch onto the table and gripped my own fork, pressing it down into my untouched food to steady my temper.
Why couldn’t Wren just bite her tongue for one night?
The Sterling buyout was approaching, and I could not afford my father in a foul mood right now.
She needed to learn how to play the high-society game and ignore these comments.
Octavia delivered the insult with a flick of her knife.
“She simply lacks the foundational breeding to handle our circles, Arthur. We’ve always known it, but the pregnancy makes it impossible to hide.”
I pushed the chair backward, stretching out the stiff ache in my shoulders.
I kept quiet. I forked a piece of quail, forcing myself to chew and swallow the expensive meal.
The upcoming merger demanded my father’s absolute focus.
Defending Wren’s background would only provoke him further, risking billions of dollars over hurt feelings.
Providing Wren with limitless security and luxury was the ultimate proof of my devotion, and securing that luxury required boardroom peace.
“Enough about her background, please,” I said, putting my fork down. “I need to make sure the estate staff doesn’t leak any domestic drama to the press before the merger goes public.”
The low, gossiping murmur of my extended cousins resumed at the far end of the long table.
I kept my eyes locked on the empty seat down the line.
The untouched plate sat exactly where Wren had left it, framed by the scattered pink confetti.
The mess stood out against the rest of the linen.
My father’s glare kept shifting toward me.
A shadow shifted near the butler’s pantry.
An older man in a starched uniform stepped away from the wall.
He skirted the edge of the dining room, his shoes silent against the floorboards.
He stopped a few feet from Wren’s abandoned setting, clasping his hands behind his back as he looked between the ruined cake and the empty chair.
His hesitation drew the attention of the executives seated nearby. Letting the hired help stall over a petty argument would only invite more whispers.
“Stop hovering,” I said. “What is it?”
The man stiffened. He avoided looking at my father, directing his focus to me. He gave a polite, practiced nod and gestured toward her plate.
“Excuse me, sir,” the butler said. “Should the kitchen keep Mrs. Kensington’s plate warm under the cloche, or would you like this removed?”
Staring at her full plate just stoked my temper.
She threw away a ten-thousand-dollar dinner to make a dramatic point.
Leaving the setting in place was an open invitation for Arthur to deliver another lecture on her lack of social endurance.
She was probably sitting on the edge of the bed up in the penthouse right now, waiting for me to follow her. I refused to reward the behavior.
“Clear it immediately,” I instructed. “She’s done for the night, and I don’t want the clutter left on the table.”
The butler nodded and stepped closer to the table. He leaned over the back of the empty chair, moving with careful precision to work around the messy spread and the spilled wine. He lifted the plate, pointedly ignoring the diamond resting inches from his fingers.
“Bring me the ring before you go,” I ordered.
The butler picked up the band and stepped over to the head of the table, placing it beside my scotch glass.
He retreated, taking the untouched food with him into the adjoining hallway.
Her empty setting looked even starker without the china resting on the cloth.
The void she had left down the table felt awkwardly wide.
I gripped the armrests of my dining chair. I planted my boots on the floor and angled the seat a few inches to the side, the sound harsh and loud in the sudden quiet.
The shift blocked my view of her abandoned chair down the line, putting me closer to Vanessa. I settled back against the cushion, preferring the new arrangement. I reached across the table and picked up my tumbler of scotch.
My mother adjusted her posture with an approving smile.
“A sensible decision, Cassian. There is no reason to let her little episode spoil a good service for the rest of us.”
I lowered the glass back to the table, leaving a wet ring on the linen. With the plate and silverware cleared, the space in front of Wren’s chair was almost bare.
The light caught the facets of the diamond resting next to my drink, throwing scattered reflections across the cloth. I reached out and picked it up.
The metal held an icy chill against my skin.
I pressed my thumb against the cut edge of the stone.
I rolled the band back and forth, letting the minor prick of the diamond ground my nerves.
Taking the ring off in the middle of a dinner service was a calculated low blow.
She only did it for the shock value, trying to embarrass me in front of my parents.
I refused to play into the theatrics. She probably ordered the estate driver to take her home to our penthouse across the city, where she would be pacing the hardwood right now, expecting me to rush through the door with an apology.
My father pointed his knife toward my side of the table, interrupting the quiet.
“Finally,” Arthur said, addressing the executives down the line. “Now we can get back to the actual timeline.”
I kept turning the band between my fingers. Arthur set his knife down.
“I trust you’ll rein her in by tomorrow morning, Cassian,” he continued. “I won’t have my CEO distracted by a pouting wife during proxy votes.”
With the Sterling buyout approaching, the board could not afford any distractions.
Arguing with him over my marriage would only invite more scrutiny into my personal life.
I slipped the diamond into the pocket of my jacket.
The stone snagged on the lining before settling at the bottom.
Hiding the ring made the argument easier to dismiss.
“My household is fine, Dad,” I replied. “She just needs to sleep it off, and she’ll be back to normal by the time the market opens.”
Vanessa leaned forward, her shoulder brushing my sleeve. She offered a bright, poised smile, completely unfazed by the tension Wren had just caused.
“Exactly,” Vanessa said. “Let’s pivot to something positive, because staring at an empty chair is depressing. Did the chef make those chocolate tarts you wanted, Cassian?”
A line of waiters emerged from the shadows of the hallway.
Carrying wide trays loaded with the final course, they moved around the long dining table, distributing dessert plates in front of the seated executives.
The steady hum of corporate jargon resumed at the far end of the room, replacing the awkward quiet Wren had left behind.
A young server paused beside my right shoulder, holding a dish just above the tablecloth.
“Set it right there,” I instructed, tapping a spot on the linen. “Next to the scotch.”
The waiter lowered the plate and retreated into the hallway. A chocolate tart rested in the center, dusted with powdered sugar. I picked up my dessert fork. I pressed it into the pastry, breaking the crisp crust. I pushed a piece of the tart into my mouth, savoring the bitter, rich taste.
My cell phone sat tucked in my jacket. I refused to reach inside to check the screen. Checking on her right now would just encourage the dramatic behavior. I needed to let her sit in the quiet penthouse and realize she had caused a scene. I took another bite of the dessert.
The antique grandfather clock in the corner ticked steadily beneath the chatter of my cousins. The conversation at the head of the table moved past the ruined gender reveal, settling back onto the upcoming corporate acquisition.
It was a relief to trade the messy argument for raw data. Numbers followed a strict logic, and the Addison proxy votes made undeniable sense.
Arthur dragged his plate closer to the edge of the table and broke off a large section of his tart.
“The chef outdid himself with the pastry,” Arthur noted. “Finally, a competent service.”
“The sugar helps offset the wine,” I replied, setting my fork on the rim of the china.
Arthur pointed his silver knife down the table. “As long as the Sterling board doesn’t catch wind of the Addison capital, we will blindside them tomorrow. This is the move that secures the decade for this family.”
I focused on the predictable cadence of boardroom strategy, letting it drown out the lingering irritation.
Fixing the argument with Wren didn’t require me to chase her down in the town car.
I would swing by the jeweler tomorrow morning before the market opened to buy her that diamond tennis bracelet she had admired last month.
A nice gift and a good night’s sleep would give her time to calm down before I came home from the office.
“They won’t see it coming,” I said, leaning forward to engage my father. “I told legal to bury the joint-venture clauses in the shell-company filings until the closing.”
Vanessa shifted in her chair, leaning closer. Her calculating smile matched the sharp ambition around the table.
“It’s going to be a bloodbath on the trading floor,” Vanessa declared. “And we are walking away with the hospitality sector. My father is already celebrating the projections.”
I picked up my glass. The plan was flawless, and the financial victory was guaranteed. Building this kind of generational wealth was the only apology I needed to give. She would see the logic in my choices once the ink dried on the contracts.
I settled into my seat, taking a slow sip of scotch as I told myself my wife’s absence meant nothing.