The shift didn't happen all at once.
If anything, it was so subtle at first that I almost missed it.
Harley still came home. Still moved through the mansion the same way he always had. Still spoke when necessary, responded when spoken to.
Nothing was different.
And yet—
Everything was.
It showed up in the smallest things.
The way he no longer lingered in the same room. The way conversations ended before they really began. The way his presence felt… quieter, like he was there without actually being there.
At first, I told myself I was overthinking it.
That this was just how things were settling after Paris. That the tension would ease if I gave it time.
But time didn't change anything.
If anything, it made it worse.
One evening, I found him in his study.
The door was slightly open, the soft glow from the desk lamp spilling into the hallway. I hesitated for a second before knocking lightly.
"Harley?"
"Yeah."
I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. He was seated at his desk, a stack of files in front of him, his attention fixed on the pages like nothing else existed.
"You're still working?" I asked.
"For a bit."
His tone was neutral.
Flat.
I took a few steps closer, stopping just short of the desk. "You've been working late all week."
"It's a busy period."
That was it.
No explanation. No follow-up.
I nodded slowly, my fingers tightening slightly at my sides. "You've barely been home."
"I have."
"That's not what I meant."
He paused then, just briefly, before setting his pen down and leaning back slightly in his chair. "Then what did you mean?"
The question should have opened something.
Instead—
It closed it.
I hesitated, suddenly unsure how to put it into words without making it sound bigger than it was. "I just meant… we haven't really talked."
"We're talking now."
My chest tightened.
"That's not the same," I said quietly.
He didn't respond.
Didn't argue.
Didn't ask me to explain.
He just reached for his pen again, his attention drifting back to the papers in front of him like the conversation had already ended.
And just like that—
It had.
I stood there for a moment longer, waiting.
For something.
Anything.
But nothing came.
"I'll leave you to it," I said finally.
"Mm."
I turned and walked out, closing the door behind me with a soft click.
It was easier at the hospital.
Easier to ignore.
Easier to pretend nothing had changed.
But even then—
I felt it.
That absence.
That space he had created between us, wide enough that I couldn't reach across it even if I wanted to.
And the worst part was—
He wasn't pushing me away anymore.
He was just…
Not there.
A few days later, I came home earlier than usual.
The mansion was quiet again, but this time it didn't feel strange.
It felt expected.
I dropped my bag by the couch and glanced around, my eyes landing on the empty space where he usually sat.
My fingers tightened slightly around the strap.
For a second, I considered texting him.
Asking where he was.
But the thought faded just as quickly as it came.
Because I already knew what the answer would be.
Working.
Busy.
Something else.
Always something else.
I exhaled slowly, sinking down onto the couch as the silence settled around me.
And for the first time—
It didn't feel temporary.
It felt like something had shifted permanently.