Cruden knew Kallum was right. Any wife could've worked, so why did it have to be Roselia Fiore? None would ask anything else of him. They'd take his presents with a smile and turn a blind eye to his absence. They'd fill the void he'd leave with children spawned from duties and raised with responsibilities. Love would not be a thing his partner and child would ever yearn for. He'd replace that emotion with all the money and power in the world.
Roselia hadn't shown her face around him for days. No phone calls. No texts. Nothing. She was always in his bedroom. She never set foot downstairs. She locked herself away. Noah fell back to his usual routine of occupying his room and only coming out for food.
All of the pieces were falling into how they should be. In place. As they always have been.
Even so, on the eighth day of Roselia's absence, Cruden found himself outside of his own bedroom. He paused, wondering if he should turn the door knob.
