Twice His Wife

n the ground and turned air into mist. The kind that soaked through shoes, clothes, even skin. The kind Anais Vale had learned to live with. She stood in the kitchen of the cottage she'd rented

e, she wouldn't survive it. Not emotionally. Maybe not physically. Because Cassian Vale didn't argue. He dismantled. The next morning, Anais packed a bag. She moved like someone preparing for a funeral. She folded the black dress she never wore. The grey coat she'd saved for job interviews. Everything about her life here had been small, temporary. A life built on borrowed time. She wrote a letter to her landlord, left rent for the next two months. No forwarding address. No number. No need. By noon, she was at the train station. By nightfall, she was in a car-one she hadn't called-driving through the glowing streets of the city she swore she'd never see again. The driver didn't speak. Just tapped his fingers once against the steering wheel when she slid into the back seat. She recognized the rhythm. Cassian's security always did that. A code. A signal. She looked out the window. The buildings rushed past in a blur of glass and steel. It felt like being pulled underwater-no sound, no breath, just pressure. She hadn't realized how much quieter her life had become until the noise came back. The car pulled up in front of the penthouse building. She didn't move. The driver opened the door. Anais stepped out. The doorman didn't ask for her name. He just nodded once, held the glass door open, and pressed the button for the top floor. The elevator ride was silent. Her heart wasn't. She hated how familiar it all was. The soft gold lights. The scent of citrus and leather. The gentle chime of the 25th floor. Her hand shook as she stepped into the hallway, but her steps didn't. Not anymore. She paused in front of the door. Then knocked once. There was a long pause. Then the door opened. And there he was. Cassian Vale. Unchanged. And yet, entirely different. He didn't say a word. He just stood there in his usual black, tailored to a kind of quiet cruelty. His tie was undone, collar loosened like he'd just come from war-or was going to one. His eyes were the same gray-blue she remembered, sharp enough to wound and cold enough not to care. But there were new things, too. Lines around his eyes that hadn't been there before. A stiffness in his left shoul