Two weeks had passed since the divorce papers were signed. Zeke hadn't spoken to Cassidy since. No messages. No calls. Just silence. He thought it would feel like relief—like a breath finally exhaled after holding it in too long.
The days passed quickly, buried under stacks of paperwork, meetings, investor calls, and back-to-back boardroom decisions. He barely had time to eat, let alone think. Work, at least, was reliable. It gave him structure. It numbed everything else.
But at night, when the world slowed down—when the silence returned—Zeke couldn't escape it.
Insomnia.
It had crept in silently, slowly. What started as a few restless nights turned into nearly a month of lying awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, listening to the city hum below his penthouse windows.
Tonight was no different.
He had been in bed for almost two hours now. Tossing. Turning. Shifting his pillow. Adjusting the sheets. Nothing worked.
With a frustrated sigh, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. The floor was cool beneath his feet as he padded out of the bedroom and into his home office. The glow of the city was faint behind the tall windows, washing the room in silver and blue.
Zeke opened his laptop and scanned through his emails—ones he had already checked hours earlier. Then he re-read a few contracts, his eyes tracing every line without really seeing them.
Eventually, he leaned back in his chair, head tilted up, eyes closed.
Why can't I sleep?
He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a proper night's sleep.
Maybe one… two weeks ago?
No. It was longer than that.
It was around the time Cassidy started packing.
The thought made his throat tighten unexpectedly. He exhaled sharply, forcing the memory back.
She hadn't cried. Not once. Cass had stood in their bedroom calmly, folding her clothes in silence, like she was simply cleaning up after a long trip.
He hadn't asked her to stay.
He had promised he wouldn't.
But maybe—maybe he thought she would pause. Look at him. Ask something. Say something.
She didn't.
And now here he was, in a perfectly organized penthouse, in an impeccably controlled life, lying awake every night with a bed that felt colder than it used to.
Zeke leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, fingers laced together.
Cassidy.
He didn't miss the marriage.
He didn't miss the obligation.
But he missed her.
Somewhere along the way, she became part of his nights. Of his space. Of the rhythm of his days.
The way she always curled toward the edge of the bed, like she didn't want to disturb him.
The faint smell of her shampoo in the bathroom.
The quiet hum of her voice when she thought no one was listening.
It wasn't love.
He wasn't sure what it was.
Maybe… maybe it was just the echo of someone who had been there long enough to matter.
And now, she was gone.
And Zeke—
Zeke didn't know how to sleep without her.
Zeke's thoughts were drifting deeper when his phone suddenly vibrated on the desk, its screen lighting up in the dim room.
Logan.
He hesitated for a second before answering.
"Yeah?"
"Zeke!" Logan's voice burst through the speaker, loud and energetic. A wave of background noise—music, chatter, laughter—hit his ear, and Zeke instinctively pulled the phone away.
Zeke winced. "You in a warzone?"
Logan chuckled, the sound a little breathless as he moved. "Sorry, man—hold on."
Zeke heard shuffling, muffled sounds, then a door closing. The background noise faded.
"That better?" Logan asked, slightly breathless.
"Much."
"Where are you?"
"Home."
There was a beat of silence before Logan spoke again, his tone brighter. "You should come out."
"Where?" Zeke leaned back in his chair, already suspecting the answer.
"Carter's celebrating—landed that massive European contract. We're at Veritas, private floor. Real low-key. Come have a drink, man."
Zeke opened his mouth to say no, already half-forming the excuse. He looked toward the dark hallway that led to his bedroom. Empty. Quiet. Always quiet. He remembered the silence that would be waiting for him there. The ceiling he'd be staring at. The sleep that wouldn't come.
He sighed.
"Text me the address."
Logan whistled, pleased. "Now that's the spirit. I'll get your drink ready."
The line went dead.
Zeke placed the phone down, staring at it for a moment longer before rising from his chair. Maybe being out—just for a little while—was better than being haunted by thoughts he couldn't even name.
Tonight, he didn't want silence.
He wanted noise.
***
Zeke glanced at his watch—11 PM. With a sigh, he grabbed his keys and headed for the garage.
The sleek engine of his matte-black sports car purred as he pulled out onto the quiet New York street, the city still buzzing even at this hour. A few turns later, he arrived at the upscale private club Logan had texted him about. The valet greeted him with the usual deference, and within minutes, Zeke was stepping through the polished double doors into a room filled with music, laughter, and the unmistakable haze of expensive liquor and privilege.
The private lounge Logan reserved was already packed—at least twenty people, mostly men in designer suits, glasses in hand, laughing too loudly. A few women were scattered among them, draped like accessories, sitting close to the men they came with—or just met.
As Zeke entered, the atmosphere shifted.
Heads turned. Voices dipped. Eyes followed him.
There was something about Ezekiel Theodore Salvador that always commanded attention—an invisible pull in the air, a presence that made others adjust their posture, check their tone. Maybe it was the way he walked. Or maybe it was just the name.
Logan was the first to move. With a grin on his face, he pushed through the crowd and met Zeke with a half hug, the kind that masked both relief and triumph.
"You actually came," Logan said, clearly pleased. "Come on, sit with us. Carter's been talking about you."
Zeke followed him through the crowd to the center of the room where Carter, with a whiskey in hand and a girl on his right, greeted him with an easy smile.
"Salvador," Carter said, raising his glass slightly. "It's been a while. Thought you turned into a ghost."
Zeke gave a short nod, his voice even. "Been busy."
Carter chuckled. "Aren't we all."
Carter Hensley—heir to one of the country's largest tobacco empires. Wealthy, yes. Influential, sure. But still a few steps behind Zeke. Everyone in the room knew it.
Zeke had taken over Empire Salvador right out of college when his father's health began to decline. Since then, he hadn't just maintained the legacy—he'd expanded it. Transformed it. The empire grew under his command, spanning industries and continents.
Among their circle, Zeke was the standard. The benchmark. The man others admired, respected… and quietly envied.
And as he took the seat offered to him, he felt all of that in the way they looked at him.
But tonight, Zeke didn't come to be admired.
He just didn't want to be alone.
***
Zeke nursed the amber liquid in his glass, the ice clinking softly as he swirled it absentmindedly. The bass from the lounge music thrummed in the background, low and sensual. Around him, laughter rose and fell in waves, people enjoying the fleeting rush of wealth, alcohol, and weekend freedom.
Several women across the room had taken notice of him. Some whispered into each other's ears while stealing glances, subtly fixing their hair or adjusting their dresses. But none approached.
Not one dared.
He wasn't the kind of man you flirted with lightly.
He was the kind of man you either stayed far away from—or fell too deeply into.
Logan plopped into the seat beside him, casually throwing an arm over the back of the couch.
"You know," Logan began, grinning as he watched a brunette eyeing Zeke from across the bar, "I've invited you out like... what? A dozen times in the past year?"
Zeke gave a faint smile but said nothing.
Logan raised an eyebrow. "And you always said no. But tonight… you show up. What's the occasion?"
Zeke stared into his drink for a moment before replying. "Didn't feel like staying home."
Logan tilted his head. "Cassidy know you're here?" His tone was light, teasing—but curious. "I mean, ever since you got married, you practically went monk on me. No clubs, no parties, no fun."
There was a pause. Zeke's jaw tightened slightly. His fingers tapped once against the glass before he set it down.
"I'm not married anymore," he said quietly.
Logan blinked. "Wait… seriously?"
Zeke nodded once.
"Holy shit," Logan muttered, leaning back. He looked genuinely surprised for a moment, then exhaled slowly, as if something just clicked. "Actually... that makes sense."
Zeke's eyes snapped to him, a faint crease forming between his brows. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Logan shrugged, lifting his hands in defense. "I'm just saying. You and Cass—come on, man. You two got married for the company. Everyone knew it. There was no love there. That kind of marriage... it doesn't last."
Zeke didn't respond right away. His gaze drifted past Logan, watching the room, but his mind was clearly elsewhere.
"And besides," Logan added, "I never saw her falling for you. Not like that. And you... well, you looked like you were just trying to survive it."
A flash of irritation crossed Zeke's face. He downed what was left of his drink in one gulp. "That's a bold assumption."
Logan leaned in, voice lower now. "Is it wrong?"
Zeke didn't answer.
Because deep down, he didn't know.
Or maybe, he did—and just didn't want to say it out loud.
***