The mansion’s marble foyer was cold underfoot, smelling of last night’s champagne and expensive perfume. Morning light cut through the blinds, illuminating dust motes and a trail of discarded silk. Robin stood at the foot of the grand staircase, a glass of orange juice in his hand, watching the caterers clear the debris of his thirty-eighth birthday. The party had been loud, a blur of familiar faces and hollow laughter that echoed in the cavernous space. He felt the weight of the performance in his bones.

April moved through the scattered guests with a model’s grace, collecting empty flutes and discarded cocktail napkins. Her smile was polite, practiced, but her eyes kept finding Robin across the room. They hadn’t spoken since the sun came up, since the last of the strangers had stumbled out into the Miami dawn. The new rule between them hung in the air, a fragile thread.

Paula arrived just after noon. She didn’t ring the bell. She just walked in, Julian a silent shadow behind her, as if the restraining order and the decade of bitterness were just inconvenient details. She wore a simple linen dress, her beauty sharp and unadorned. Her gaze swept over the mansion, over the evidence of Robin’s life without her, and landed on April.

“Robin’s brother is by the pool,” April said, her voice carefully neutral as she approached Paula. “His kids are in the media room.”

“I didn’t come for them,” Paula replied. Her voice was calm, a quiet knife. “I came to see you.”

She guided April, not with a touch but with the sheer force of her presence, into the relative privacy of the library. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, mostly empty, surrounded them. The smell of old paper and dust.

“He’ll leave you, you know,” Paula said, not looking at April but at a blank space on the wall. “Today. Or one day. It’s what he does.”

April didn’t answer. She folded her arms, feeling the silk of her blouse against her skin. She watched Paula’s profile, the set of her jaw.

“He’s the kind of man you can never make happy,” Paula continued, her tone almost clinical. “No matter what you do. Or what you don’t do. He will find a reason. He will find someone else. It’s in his blood.”

Deep down, April knew it might happen. The knowledge was a cold stone in her stomach. It had been there since the hotel, since the strangers in her bed—a fear dressed up as control. She remembered the desperate look in Robin’s eyes when he made his vow. How much she wanted to believe it.

Still, she said nothing. She just listened, letting Paula’s words settle into the quiet room.

Paula finally turned to look at her. There was no malice in her eyes. Just a weary certainty. “I’m not saying this to hurt you. I’m saying it so you’re not surprised. So you can protect yourself.”

She left then, joining Julian in the foyer without another glance. April stayed in the library. She traced the spine of a leather-bound book with her fingertip. The cold stone in her stomach felt heavier.

Out in the main living area, Robin laughed at something his brother said. The sound was too bright, too forced. It bounced off the high ceilings. April heard it through the open library door.

She closed her eyes. She breathed in the dust. She thought of Paula’s final, unshakeable resolve. The door closing.

When she opened her eyes, Robin was standing in the library doorway. The practiced smile was gone from his face. He just looked at her, his famous blue eyes searching hers. “What did she say to you?”

April unfolded her arms. She let her hands hang at her sides. “The truth.”

Robin stepped into the room. The door swung shut behind him, muffling the party sounds. “Which is?”

“That you’ll leave.” Her voice didn’t shake. It was flat. A simple statement. “That I can’t make you happy. That you’ll find someone else.”

He crossed the space between them in three long strides. He didn’t touch her. He stopped close enough that she could smell the citrus on his breath, the faint, expensive scent of his cologne. “Look at me.”

She did. Her big, expressive eyes were dry. Clear.

“I am not leaving,” he said, each word deliberate. “You are my wife. This is my life. That…” He jerked his head toward the door, toward where Paula had been. “That is my past. It’s dead.”

“Is it?” April whispered. The word hung between them.

Robin’s hand came up. He didn’t grab her. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle. His calloused thumb grazed her cheekbone. “Feel this?”

She nodded, a tiny movement.

“This is real,” he breathed. “The vow I made to you is real. Nothing else is.”

Outside the library door, someone called his name. A friend’s laughter echoed. The party, his life, pressed in. But in the dusty silence of the room, with his thumb on her cheek, there was only the two of them, and the cold, heavy stone of a truth neither of them could outrun.