Chapter 24 TWENTY-FOUR
Lennox woke up to the sound of Callum's shower running. Six-thirty, like clockwork. She lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to the familiar morning routine through the walls. Water shutting off. Closet door opening. The quiet sounds of someone getting ready for another day of being married to work instead of her.
By the time she dragged herself out of bed at seven-fifteen, he was in the kitchen. Suit perfectly pressed, tie already knotted, scrolling through something on his phone while drinking coffee.
"Morning," she said, heading for the coffee maker.
"Morning." He didn't look up. "There's breakfast if you want it. Henri made quiche this morning."
"Thanks."
Henri was Callum's private chef, came in three times a week to meal prep and stock the kitchen with things Lennox could barely pronounce. The other days they had leftovers or ordered in, though "ordering in" for Callum meant calling restaurants that didn't deliver to average people.
She poured coffee, added cream, tried to wake up properly. The kitchen felt too quiet. Too normal. Like yesterday's conversation about Victor hadn't happened, like Callum showing actual concern for her wellbeing was just something she'd imagined.
"My mother wants us for dinner Thursday night," Callum said, finally glancing up from his phone. "Seven o'clock. Gerald will send you the details."
"Okay."
"She'll probably want to talk about the charity gala next month. Just agree to whatever she suggests, it's easier that way."
"Got it."
He grabbed his briefcase, checked his watch. Ready to leave like always. But he paused at the elevator, turned back.
"If Victor texts you again, you don't have to respond right away. Or at all, really."
There it was again. That protective edge in his voice that made her chest feel tight.
"I'll keep that in mind."
He nodded, pressed the elevator button. "Have a good day, Lennox."
The doors closed before she could respond.
She stood there holding her coffee, trying to figure out what just happened. Callum being considerate felt wrong somehow. Like the script had changed and nobody told her.
The morning stretched ahead of her, empty and quiet. She'd told the Brooklyn center she couldn't make it today, had too much catching up to do after falling behind on everything during wedding planning. Which was true, technically. She had emails to answer, thank you notes still waiting, a whole list of things Patricia expected her to handle.
Instead, she opened her laptop and logged into the system for the Queens financial literacy program. They'd asked her to review some curriculum materials, update the budgeting worksheets they used in classes. Real work. Useful work. Something that actually mattered.
She spent two hours going through spreadsheets, fixing formulas, adding examples that would make sense to people struggling to make rent. The work absorbed her completely, let her focus on something concrete instead of the mess her life had become.
Around eleven, she finally switched to the thank you notes. Patricia had very specific ideas about what should be said and how. Lennox had a template now, just filled in the blanks with different gift descriptions and vague pleasantries about their "special day."
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Henderson, Thank you so much for the beautiful crystal vase. It will look lovely in our home. We're so grateful you could celebrate with us.
Repeat fifty more times with minor variations.
Her hand cramped after the twentieth note. She took a break, made more coffee, stared out at the city from the floor-to-ceiling windows. Somewhere out there people were living normal lives. Getting married because they loved each other. Coming home to partners who actually wanted to see them.
She went back to the thank you notes.
By three her eyes were crossing from the careful handwriting and fake gratitude. She'd finished maybe half of what Patricia expected. The rest could wait until tomorrow.
Around six, her phone buzzed. Text from Callum.
Working late.
Of course he was. The man was constantly working.
Henri had left dinner in the fridge with reheating instructions. Some kind of pasta with vegetables that probably had a fancy Italian name Lennox didn't know. She ate it alone at the kitchen island, scrolling through her phone without really seeing anything. Emma had texted earlier asking how married life was treating her. Lennox had sent back a thumbs up emoji because what else could she say?
The evening dragged. She tried watching a movie but couldn't focus. Tried reading but the words didn't stick. Finally gave up and just sat on the couch in the dim living room, listening to the city sounds muffled by expensive windows.
This was her life now. Beautiful apartment, unlimited money, complete isolation.
By ten she was exhausted despite doing basically nothing all day. She brushed her teeth, changed into pajamas, climbed into bed.
She checked her laptop once more before sleeping. Quick scan of her security systems, making sure everything was locked down properly. All clear. All normal.
She was about to close it when she heard Callum's office door opening. Footsteps in the hallway, slow and tired. They paused outside her room for just a second before continuing to his bedroom.
The same pattern as always. Him working until midnight, finally giving up, going to bed alone twenty feet away from where she lay awake doing the same thing.
This was their marriage. Two people existing in parallel, carefully avoiding anything real. She didn’t know what she’d expected, maybe she thought they could be friends regardless but she didn’t think Callum Westbrook did friendships.
Lennox set her laptop aside and turned off the light.
Sleep came easier than expected. Maybe because she was too tired to overthink anymore. Maybe because her brain had finally exhausted itself.
She dreamed.
Nothing concrete, nothing she could describe clearly when she half-woke around three AM. Just images. Feelings. Callum's face without the usual distance in his eyes. The penthouse feeling less empty. Conversations that went deeper than small talk about his mother's dinner plans and what not.
The kind of dream that left a strange ache in her chest when she woke up properly at six, sunlight starting to filter through the curtains.
She lay there for a while, trying to shake off whatever that was. Dreams didn't mean anything. Just her brain sorting through stress, mixing up reality with things that weren't real and never would be.
Callum's shower started running right on schedule.
Another day beginning exactly like the one before. Same routine, same careful distance, same performance of a marriage that existed on paper and nowhere else.
Lennox got up and started getting ready, pushing the dream to the back of her mind where it belonged.
It didn't mean anything.
It couldn't.