It started with a text.
Found us a feature opportunity. Top 20 Power Couples of the City. Gloss Magazine. They'll do a full shoot at the gallery. It'll be good for both our images.
Malik read the message twice before setting his phone facedown on the desk.
It was always like this.
Events stacked on events.
Dinners. Interviews. Galas.
An endless carousel of polished smiles and perfect lighting.
A life built for cameras, not for breathing.
Everything felt manufactured now.
Touched up like one of Serena's glossy magazine spreads.
Fake.
But he agreed, of course.
Because Malik Graves knew better than anyone:
Sometimes the most beautiful lies had to be dressed up perfectly... right before they burned.
The photo shoot was scheduled for Saturday afternoon.
The gallery was closed to the public for the day—white walls gleaming under soft, diffused light, custom flower arrangements shipped in from Paris.
Serena floated through it all like she was born for this.
Hair swept into elegant waves.
Diamond earrings that caught every flash.
A tailored white dress that curved like architecture itself.
Malik wore a black suit, no tie, open collar—carefully styled to look effortless.
But there was nothing soft about him anymore.
His frame, once carrying a quiet warmth, now cut a colder silhouette—broad shoulders tapering into a lean, dangerous strength. His jaw, dusted lightly with stubble, looked sharper under the studio lights. His deep brown eyes, once quietly kind, held an edge now—an intensity that pulled the gaze but offered nothing back.
He looked every inch the man Serena had married.
But none of the man she still knew.
The photographer clicked and directed them with smooth, rehearsed enthusiasm.
"Perfect! Now, Mrs. Graves, tilt your chin slightly—yes, gorgeous—lean into him a little, like you're whispering something you only trust him with."
Serena laughed lightly, brushing her fingers across Malik's chest.
He smiled down at her, his hands resting lightly on her waist.
To anyone watching, they looked flawless.
Solid. Unbreakable.
Inside, Malik felt nothing.
No warmth.
No pride.
Only a growing impatience for the charade to end.
Between shots, Serena pulled him aside, adjusting the collar of his jacket.
"You're doing great," she whispered.
Her eyes sparkled—not with affection, but with ambition.
She wasn't looking at him.
She was looking at the image he helped her create.
Malik held her gaze for a long moment.
He wondered if she even realized anymore that she was hugging a ghost.
After the shoot, Serena spoke to the editor privately, smiling, laughing, gesturing at the sculptures she had curated, the gallery she had resurrected, the brand she had built.
Malik stood a few feet away, listening.
When the editor asked how they managed to "balance such high-powered careers and still prioritize each other," Serena answered easily:
"We make each other better," she said, looping her arm through Malik's without missing a beat.
"Always have. Always will."
Malik smiled for the cameras.
But somewhere deep inside, a clock was ticking down.
Not for him.
For her.
And she hadn't even heard it start.