Cathleen traced the condensation on her water glass; the cold droplets were a contrast to the warmth that the first week had promised. A month at Xavier's vacation house—a gleaming fortress of solitude—and the walls between them only thickened. The staff bustled in the kitchen, their efficiency a silent reminder of Xavier's decision to put space where there might have been conversation, companionship, or something more.

"Your lunch, Mrs. Knight," the chef announced, placing a meticulously arranged salad before her.

She offered a tight-lipped smile, her gratitude genuine, if not for the food, then for the presence of another human being. "Thank you."

The chair opposite her remained empty, as...