CHAPTER 9 THE SILENCE IN HIS MANSION
The first night without Seraphina felt strange.
The second felt uncomfortable.
By the seventh, Lucien could no longer pretend the silence was temporary.
The Armand mansion had never truly been quiet before.
There had always been music drifting through the halls, staff moving between rooms, Seraphina's footsteps crossing the marble floors, or the soft sound of her voice when she spoke to someone on the phone.
Now there was nothing.
Lucien came home at eight thirty on Monday evening.
He entered through the front doors and instinctively looked toward the staircase.
He expected to see Seraphina.
Perhaps she would be waiting.
Perhaps she would be sitting in the library with a book.
Perhaps she would glance at him and say, "You're late."
Nothing.
The foyer was empty.
"Good evening, Mr. Armand," the housekeeper said.
Lucien nodded.
"Where is Mrs. Armand?"
The woman hesitated.
Then she remembered.
"I'm sorry, sir."
Lucien's jaw tightened.
"Right."
He walked past her.
The word followed him.
Sorry.
He didn't need anyone to remind him.
He knew.
He went upstairs.
Their bedroom looked almost exactly as Seraphina had left it.
Her side of the bed was untouched.
A silk scarf remained draped over the chair.
Her perfume sat on the dresser.
A novel lay open beside the lamp.
Lucien picked it up.
There was a small crease in the page where she had stopped reading.
He stared at it.
For the first time, he realized how many pieces of Seraphina remained in the house.
Not enough to make her present.
Just enough to make her absence impossible to ignore.
He placed the book down.
His phone rang.
Cassian.
Lucien answered.
"Hello."
"You sound exhausted."
"I am."
"Have you spoken to her?"
"She sends short messages."
"That's something."
"Not enough."
Cassian was quiet.
Then he asked, "Have you apologized?"
Lucien frowned.
"Of course."
"For what?"
Lucien paused.
"I told her I was sorry."
"That's not what I asked."
Lucien leaned against the dresser.
"What do you want me to say?"
"The truth."
Lucien looked around the room.
"I failed her."
Cassian didn't respond immediately.
Lucien continued.
"I thought providing everything she needed was enough."
"It wasn't."
"I know."
"You took her for granted."
"I know."
"Then tell her."
Lucien looked at the phone.
"She doesn't want to hear from me."
"Maybe she doesn't want promises anymore."
The call ended shortly afterward.
Lucien remained in the bedroom.
He sat on the edge of the bed.
For three years, Seraphina had slept there.
Three years.
He remembered how she used to ask him about his day.
He rarely gave detailed answers.
He remembered how she waited for him at dinner.
He often told her to eat without him.
He remembered her asking him to attend events.
He frequently sent someone else.
At the time, none of it had seemed important.
Now every memory felt like evidence.
The following morning, Lucien went to the office earlier than usual.
He worked for twelve hours without taking a real break.
It should have been easy.
Work had always been his refuge.
But every time his mind became quiet, Seraphina appeared.
At noon, his assistant entered.
"Mr. Armand, your lunch."
"Leave it."
"Sir, you haven't eaten."
"I'm not hungry."
She left.
Five minutes later, Lucien's phone vibrated.
For one second, he thought it was Seraphina.
It was a business message.
He turned the phone face down.
That evening, he returned home earlier.
Again, the silence greeted him.
He walked into the dining room.
The long table was set for one.
He stopped.
"Why is the table set?"
The housekeeper looked confused.
"Would you like dinner served in the dining room?"
Lucien looked at the empty chair across from him.
"No."
He changed his mind.
"Yes."
She nodded.
Dinner arrived.
He sat down.
The plate in front of him looked perfect.
He took one bite.
Then another.
He couldn't finish.
His eyes kept moving to the empty chair.
He remembered Seraphina sitting there.
She had always talked about small things.
A book she had enjoyed.
Something she'd seen in the garden.
A charity project.
Something funny one of the staff members had said.
He had often listened while answering emails.
Sometimes he hadn't listened at all.
Now he would have given anything to hear one of those insignificant stories.
He pushed his plate away.
"Take it."
The housekeeper cleared the table.
Lucien remained seated.
Then his phone rang.
Eveline.
He answered.
"Mother."
"Lucien, you haven't returned my calls."
"I've been busy."
"We need to discuss the foundation."
"Not tonight."
There was a pause.
"You sound distracted."
"I am."
"Is this about Seraphina?"
Lucien looked toward the empty chair.
"Yes."
"She'll come back."
He closed his eyes.
"Everyone keeps saying that."
"Because it's true."
"How do you know?"
"Because she has nowhere else to go."
Lucien's eyes opened.
"Don't say that."
"What?"
"Don't talk about her like she belongs here because she has nowhere else."
Eveline was silent.
Lucien continued.
"She stayed because she loved me."
His voice lowered.
"If she comes back, I want it to be because she chooses me."
"You're becoming sentimental."
"Maybe I should have been."
He ended the call.
Later that night, Lucien walked through the mansion without turning on all the lights.
He passed the sitting room.
The library.
The small conservatory where Seraphina liked to read.
Everything was exactly where it had always been.
Except her.
He stopped outside the bedroom.
His hand rested on the door handle.
For years, he had believed the mansion was his greatest possession.
Tonight, he finally understood something.
The house had never been made beautiful by the marble, the chandeliers, or the expensive furniture.
Seraphina had made it feel like home.
And now that she was gone, all the luxury in the world couldn't fill the space she had left behind.
Lucien entered the bedroom.
He sat beside the window and looked out at the city.
His phone remained silent.
For the first time in his life, Lucien Armand was surrounded by everything money could buy and still felt as though he had nothing.
The silence wasn't merely the absence of Seraphina's voice.
It was the sound of consequences arriving.
And for the first time, he was beginning to listen.