Serena's text arrived mid-morning:
I booked us a trip. Saint Lucia. Just you and me. Next weekend. Oceanfront suite. Don't say no.
Malik stared at the message on his screen.
He imagined the version of himself from three months ago—the man who would've dropped everything to say yes. Who would've sent her flowers just for thinking of it. Who would've held her waist at the airport, whispered things into her ear while waiting for luggage, ordered her favorite drink before she asked.
But that man was gone now.
Tucked away somewhere quiet, cold, and perfectly still.
She waited until dinner to bring it up again.
They were eating takeout, candles flickering more out of habit than romance. Serena had dressed down: an oversized sweater, hair loose and soft around her shoulders, no makeup. A version of herself he hadn't seen in weeks.
"You haven't answered," she said, between bites of grilled salmon. "About Saint Lucia."
Malik glanced up, folded his napkin slowly. "It sounds nice."
Serena smiled—tight, hopeful. "I thought we needed it. Something warm. Something away from... all this."
All what?
She didn't say.
"Jordan can handle your schedule," she added. "I already emailed her."
Of course she had.
"You've been so tense lately, Mal. You need to breathe."
You.
Not we.
Not us.
"I'll think about it," Malik said softly.
Serena blinked. "Think about it?"
"I've got Southbend closing next week. Contracts. Team meetings."
"You always make time for work," she said, voice a shade colder now. "But when I try to do something for us—"
He leaned back in his chair, eyes calm. "Serena, you booked a vacation without even asking if I was free. That's not doing something for us."
She looked away. The silence stretched.
Malik didn't press it.
He simply sipped his wine, then asked, "How was your meeting with Landon?"
The air went still.
Serena hesitated. "It was just a dinner with some investors. Casual."
"I know," Malik said. "You told me."
And then he smiled—small, polite.
Serena set her fork down too loudly. "You don't trust me anymore."
Malik didn't blink. "Should I?"
It wasn't an accusation. Not even a challenge.
Just a question.
Calm.
Deadly.
Serena stood from the table. "I'm going to bed."
"Sleep well," he said without looking up.
Later that night, Malik stood by the window in the dark.
The city glowed below, golden and alive. In the reflection, he could just make out Serena in their bed, curled toward the far side, motionless.
She didn't speak to him when he joined her.
She didn't touch him either.
But she kept glancing his way in the dark, thinking he couldn't see her.
She didn't know what to do with this new version of him.
The one who didn't argue.
The one who didn't reach.
She'd always known how to fight a man who yelled.
But she didn't know how to survive a man who was done.