She looked up and smiled. But the smile was forced and a little shaky.
“You’re home,” she said gently, drying her hands as if nothing were out of place.
“Ruth, the floors still need some attention. We have guests tomorrow.”
It was Clare, his fiancée.
Her tone was crisp and managerial — not what he expected in the home they shared. Something about it struck him immediately, but he set his reaction aside and focused on Ruth. She brushed off his concern with the same quiet grace that had guided his entire childhood.
But something was off. And he knew it.
That night, long after everyone had gone to bed, Ethan walked through the penthouse in silence. Small things seemed out of rhythm — the damp robe, the overworked laundry, the meticulous cleaning in places that had already been spotless. Ruth was still awake, tidying the kitchen as though she didn’t know how to rest.
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