The heavy silence lasted until the following evening.

Elena had spent the day moving through the house under the continuous pressure like a woman walking on glass—high-necked sweater, soft pants, the thick residual claim from the morning still warm between her legs, the lower marks aching under the fabric in a deep continuous line. Marcus had taken her once in the study during the short window Victoria spent on a client call with the door mostly closed, quiet and absolute, the ownership confirmed under the same scraped quiet that had settled over every ordinary surface since the dinner that ended without words. The private frequency between them stayed locked down...