Martin stepped out of the room without a word, closing the door behind him with the same control he always carried.
The corridor outside remained dimly lit, the distant sound of the lower floors of the mansion softened by thick walls.
Gray was already waiting.
Not in a casual sense, but in that quiet way of someone who had anticipated disruption long before it became visible and had simply chosen to remain in place until it arrived in full.
Gray bowed immediately.
"Sir."
Martin stopped in front of him.
Gray lifted his eyes just enough to meet Martin's expression without breaking etiquette.
Martin exhaled slowly. "Not tonight," he said simply.
And then he walked past him.
Gray did not follow. He only straightened after a moment, watching his employer disappear down the corridor.
His expression fell deeper as his gaze returned to Victoria's door and back.
Of course, this would happen… Gray grimaced.
• • •
The next morning arrived…
Martin was already in his office when Gray entered. He bowed once before speaking.
"Sir, I tried to wake Madam this morning," he began carefully. "She refused to get up."
Martin's gaze lifted slightly from the desk.
Gray continued, "She also refused breakfast. She has not left her room since last night, and she has not spoken to anyone this morning."
A brief silence followed that statement.
Martin leaned back slightly in his chair, his fingers resting against the armrest before he spoke, his voice carrying a edge of thoughtfulness.
"…Just when I thought she wasn't the quiet type," he murmured.
Gray tilted his head slightly, watching him. "Is that what you intended for her to be?" he asked.
Martin's eyes shifted toward the side of the room, where a small plant sat near the window, its leaves still with the light brushing through the glass.
He watched it for a moment longer than necessary.
Then he answered. "No."
Gray stayed silent.
Martin's voice came again, seeming more reflective than declarative.
"I did not intend for her to be quiet or accepting. I wanted to understand how far she could be pushed before she pushed back. I wanted a reaction… not this silence."
He exhaled slowly, as if the conclusion did not sit comfortably even as he admitted it.
"…But perhaps I was inconsiderate."
Gray did not react immediately. Then he spoke again, "With respect, sir, what you are describing is not observation. It is controlled exposure without consent."
Martin did not interrupt.
Gray continued, carefully choosing each word.
"In pharmaceutical terms, you are treating emotional response as a variable that can be tested under pressure. In human terms…" he paused slightly, "…that makes her a subject, not a partner in the arrangement. Which any human, be is man or woman, would highly dislike."
Martin's jaw tightened faintly, though his expression remained calm.
"I am aware."
Gray nodded once, but did not soften his stance.
"Then you should also be aware that subjects eventually stop reacting in predictable ways. Not because they are stable, but because they begin to shut down entirely. Especially one with a story like hers."
A brief silence settled between them.
Martin looked down at the desk, then slowly leaned forward, resting his forearm lightly as if holding himself together.
"I didn't expect it to reach that point," he admitted, voice lower now.
Gray adjusted his posture slightly.
"That is usually the issue, Sir," he said. "Expectation without accounting for emotional consequence prove fatal. And emotions, if I may speak freely, have never been your place of strength."
Martin's gaze flicked briefly toward the window again, then returned forward.
The office fell into a quiet stretch where neither of them spoke, only the soft ticking of time filling the space between their thoughts.
Then Gray added, remorsefully.
"Sir… there is also something else."
Martin's eyes lifted slightly.
Gray continued.
"The online coverage has already begun to spiral."
Martin did not respond immediately, but his eyes slitted.
Gray reached into the folder he had been holding and placed a few printed pages on the desk. Headlines, comments, clipped screenshots from blogs and early news reports filled the pages.
"'Party Crasher Bride Runs From Her Own Wedding Dinner.' 'Solberg Marriage Begins in Chaos.' And…" Gray paused to inhale, "…there are already conspiracy threads forming."
Martin's gaze lowered to the pages.
Gray continued.
"Some claim she left because of a secret lover. Others are saying the marriage itself is staged, that last night was a performance gone wrong. A few even claim they saw her speaking to a man outside the venue before she returned upstairs."
Martin rolled his eyes.
"Her ex was identified by some of the footage leaks," Gray added. "The narrative online is already leaning toward infidelity."
Martin's expression did not change outwardly.
"…It spread faster than expected," he said.
"Yes, sir," Gray replied. "Because it involved both your name and her image."
Martin leaned back again. "I assume damage control has begun."
"It has," Gray confirmed. "But the speed of speculation is exceeding containment efforts. The more they try to correct it, the more attention it gathers."
Martin exhaled quietly through his nose.
"…Of course."
Gray hesitated, then added, in a meek tone. "One more thing, sir…"
"What again?" Martin could feel the beat of his temple, palming his face.
"There is also one challenge that arouse this morning."
Martin looked up.
Before Gray could continue, the phone on Martin's desk rang.
The sound cut cleanly through the room as he picked it up without checking.
"Speak."
There's brief pause on the other end.
Then a voice came, a bit hesitant.
"Boss… she's here."
Instantly, Martin's expression darkened, subtle enough that it would have been missed by anyone unfamiliar with him, yet Gray noticed.
Martin did not respond right away.
The silence stretched for a second longer than necessary.
Then, in a lower, controlled growl, he asked, "…Where?"