Julian Dillinger had always been brilliant — intense, focused, driven. But when you married him, that brilliance had been warm. Gentle. He used to pull you close whenever he came home, murmuring sweet things against your hair, making you feel like the center of his entire universe.

Now you weren’t sure you were even on the edges of it.

The door slid open well past midnight. You heard the soft hum of it before Julian even stepped into the apartment. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t say hello. Didn’t even pause. He walked straight to the counter, dropping a stack of datapads with a metallic thud.

“Julian,” you said quietly.

He didn’t answer. He just tapped something on the screen, the glow of the Presenter Code flickering coldly against his face. He looked more machine than man now — all sharp lines and tired eyes, no emotion behind any of it.

“You’re home late again,” you tried.

“Obviously.” His tone was clipped, flat.

You blinked, stung. “You could have texted.”

“Didn’t have time.”

That wasn’t true — he never even bothered anymore. You watched him strip off his suit jacket and toss it carelessly on a chair. He didn’t ask about your day. He didn’t notice the dinner you had kept warm for hours. He didn’t look at the way you were wringing your hands just to keep steady.

“You’ve been doing this for weeks,” you murmured. “Barely sleeping. Barely talking to me. I feel like you don’t even see me anymore.”

Julian finally looked at you — but there was nothing soft in his eyes. Just exhaustion… and annoyance.

“Because I don’t have time to coddle your insecurities right now.”

The words were sharp enough to make you flinch. He didn’t apologize. He turned back to his work, fingers flying over the interface.

“This code is more important than—”

“Than me?” you whispered.

He didn’t look up. “Than everything right now.”

Your stomach twisted painfully. This wasn’t the man who used to make you laugh until your ribs hurt. This wasn’t the husband who used to trace kisses down your spine every morning.

This was Julian Dillinger, CEO. Obsessed. Consumed. Controlled by a project he wouldn’t even let you near.

“You said we’d face things together,” you reminded him softly.

“And I said that before I knew what the Presenter Code actually was.” His voice was cold, distant. “This isn’t some problem you can help with. This is something I have to handle.”

“You’re shutting me out.”

“I’m protecting you.”

“No,” you said, voice trembling. “You’re replacing me.”

That finally made him stop typing. But instead of reaching for you, instead of explaining, instead of even looking sorry… he just sighed.

“I don’t have the energy for this tonight. I need to work.”

“Julian—”

“I said I need to work.”

The dismissal hit harder than any argument. It was final. Brutal. Emotionless. He didn’t yell. He didn’t fight. He just acted like your pain was an inconvenience.

You stood there, feeling yourself cracking in places you didn’t know could break. He didn’t notice. He was already lost again — swallowed by the pulsing blue data in front of him, eyes locked on something that wasn’t you.

And for the first time since marrying him, you wondered if you were already gone from his world.