Chapter 4
The first week after my "death" passed quietly. And honestly, nothing much changed for Alaric. He was still buried under work, still making time for Vivian—ever the delicate, pitiable figure.
The funeral was kept extremely simple, just as he wanted. Aside from a handful of obligatory Goodwin relatives and a few company reps, hardly anyone showed up.
As for the Sinclair family, only a couple of distant relatives showed up just for formality's sake. My parents had passed away long ago, my only brother was overseas, and Mason took care of everything on my behalf.
At the funeral, Alaric wore a black suit, his face unreadable, betraying no hint of grief or joy.
Vivian, meanwhile, showed up in white, crying like crazy. Anyone who didn't know better would've thought she was the love of Alaric's life.
After it was over, things supposedly went back to normal.
But some shifts, once set in motion, couldn't be undone.
Mason told me the first crack appeared on a hungover morning.
Alaric woke up with a pounding headache and instinctively called out, "Jocelyn, my honey water."
But no one answered.
Annoyed, he sat up with a frown, planning to get it himself, only to realize he had no idea where the honey was kept, or even which cup he usually used.
For the first time, he actually looked at the house he'd lived in for three years. It was massive and empty. And he knew nothing about it.
Before, no matter how late he came home, there would always be a glass of honey water at just the right temperature waiting for him on his bedside table the next morning.
At breakfast, there were always his favorite sandwiches—customized exactly to his taste—and a cup of freshly brewed coffee, just the way he liked it.
His shirts were always perfectly ironed and hung up by color and fabric, with the cufflinks matched flawlessly—everything in its place, just so.
Now, all of that was gone.
Vivian even tried moving in to take care of him.
But she'd either sleep in until noon or turn the kitchen into a disaster zone, burning the eggs and spilling the milk everywhere.
She'd buy expensive, showy decorations that looked good but were useless, but ended up killing the lily in his study—the one I'd spent years caring for, though he'd never even noticed it existed.
He caught himself frowning more often.
Once, when Serena came over for dinner and saw how clumsy Vivian was in the kitchen, she couldn't help but sigh, "Jocelyn could've whipped up a full course meal in half an hour—and it'd look like something out of a magazine."
At once, she realized she'd put her foot in her mouth and quickly clammed up.
Alaric and Vivian's faces darkened.
Alaric found himself getting irritable for reasons he couldn't quite put his finger on.
He started staying at the office later and later, working overtime whenever he could, just to avoid going home.
Funny—the place he'd always treated like background noise now felt heavy.
*****
One late night, Alaric was hunched over his desk, drowning in paperwork, when his stomach twisted with that familiar, gnawing pain.
He yanked open a drawer, fumbling for the antacids he kept stashed there—only for his fingers to brush against a ceramic rabbit.
He remembered this thing.
Years ago, back when his business was still struggling and his temper was even worse, he'd snatched it off some street vendor's table on impulse. It was cheap, slightly lopsided, and frankly ugly. Without thinking, he'd shoved it at Jocelyn—just his "little sidekick" back then—like handing off trash.
He'd always assumed she'd tossed it out long ago.
But to his surprise, she'd kept it all this time, tucked away in the back of his study drawer.
The ceramic rabbit looked just as goofy as ever, silently staring up at him.
Alaric clenched it in his palm, staring at the empty space where his medicine should've been. Vivian, in her endless helpfulness, had organized it into oblivion. For the first time, he felt a hollow, aching feeling he couldn't put into words.
He furrowed his brows, telling himself it was just the stomach pain acting up, and maybe, just a bit of nostalgia for his past wife.
Then, with barely a pause, he tossed the little rabbit into the trash can.
But that hollow, empty feeling just wouldn't go away, lingering far longer than he cared to admit.