Kalina's Quarters - The Bar Corner, 10:15 PM
The first round of drinks went down in heavy silence.
Atticus drained his whiskey in one gulp and held out his glass for a refill without a word.
Kalina obliged, pouring generously.
Logan sipped his beer, staring at nothing.
Mireille and Ophelia exchanged glances, clearly uncomfortable with the oppressive atmosphere.
Then Mireille, bless her chaos-loving heart, decided she'd had enough of the funeral vibes.
"Okay, no," she announced, setting down her wine glass with a decisive clink. "We are NOT doing this. We are not sitting here in traumatized silence like we just witnessed a murder."
"We kind of did," Ophelia muttered. "Marriage murder."
"Exactly! Which means we need to lighten the mood before we all develop collective PTSD." Mireille stood up, walked over to Kalina's sound system, and connected her phone. "We're drinking, we're venting, and we're playing music. House rules."
Upbeat jazz filled the room—nothing too aggressive, but enough to cut through the tension.
"Mireille—" Logan started.
"Nope! No protests! Kalina, back me up here."
Kalina, who'd been watching Atticus pour himself a third whiskey, nodded. "She's right. If we're going to process... whatever that was... we might as well do it without wanting to throw ourselves off a balcony."
"Thank you!" Mireille raised her glass. "To surviving workplace awkwardness that was definitely not workplace appropriate!"
Despite himself, Logan cracked a small smile.
Ophelia giggled—the wine was clearly hitting her lightweight system already.
Even Atticus's mouth twitched slightly.
They clinked glasses.
And slowly, painfully, the atmosphere began to thaw.
10:45 PM - Second Round
"Okay, but seriously," Mireille said, now on her second large pour of wine and considerably more relaxed. "Can we talk about how Lyra pulled the 'I'm the CEO' card? Like, ma'am, that's your husband. You can't just boss card him!"
"She can and she did," Ophelia said, shaking her head. "I love my sister, but sometimes she's so focused on being right that she forgets to be... human."
"She's always been like that," Kalina added, swirling her drink. "Since we were kids. Everything is about proving herself. Being the best. Being indispensable."
Logan leaned back in his chair. "It's exhausting just watching it. I can't imagine living with it."
All eyes unconsciously drifted to Atticus.
He'd been quiet, working on his fourth whiskey, his tie loosened and his usually immaculate appearance starting to fray around the edges.
"You don't have to imagine it," Atticus said quietly, his words slightly slurred. "You just have to marry it."
The room went quiet again, but this time with anticipation rather than discomfort.
Atticus laughed—a bitter, hollow sound. "You know what's funny?"
"What?" Kalina asked gently.
"I thought—" He paused, taking another sip. "I thought the problem was Kalina."
Kalina's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"
"Not you as a person. Just... your existence. Your presence and your impact in the company. Your relationship with Lyra." Atticus looked at her directly for the first time all evening. "I've been hard on you. Suspicious. Used you as an excuse to get a genuine reaction from my wife."
"Oh my God," Kalina breathed. "You were—"
"Testing her. Pushing her. Trying to see if she'd defend you. If she'd show some emotion about something other than spreadsheets and market projections." He laughed again, darker this time. "Didn't work, obviously."
"Atticus—"
"Don't be offended," he interrupted, waving his glass. "It's actually been fun to tease you. You're surprisingly entertaining when you're defensive."
Despite everything, Kalina snorted. "Gee, thanks."
"I mean it. You're..." Atticus gestured vaguely. "You're real. You react. You get angry and you show it. You care about things and you let people know." His expression crumpled slightly. "She used to be like that. Before the CEO thing consumed her whole personality."
Mireille reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "She still loves you, you know."
"Does she?" Atticus's voice cracked. "Because from where I'm sitting, she loves Regal Empire. She loves proving herself to her father. She loves being right. And I'm just... furniture. Convenient. There when she needs me, ignorable when she doesn't."
"That's not true—" Ophelia started.
"It is though." Atticus drained his glass and immediately poured another. "When's the last time she asked about my day? Not work stuff. Just... me. As a person. When's the last time we went on a date that wasn't a business dinner? When's the last time she looked at me the way she looks at a successful merger?"
No one had an answer.
Because they all knew he was right.
11:20 PM - Third Round
The conversation had drifted to lighter topics—Mireille's disastrous attempt at online dating, Ophelia's increasingly serious relationship with Maxi, Kalina's ongoing battle with Patricia over morning schedules.
Logan had been participating, but his phone kept buzzing.
Finally, he stood up. "Excuse me. I need to take this."
He stepped out onto Kalina's private balcony, sliding the door closed behind him.
Through the glass, they could see him answer the phone.
See his expression shift from hopeful to frustrated to angry.
His voice rose—muffled through the door, but clearly agitated.
The call ended abruptly.
Logan stood there for a moment, shoulders tight, then came back inside.
His face was stormy.
"Everything okay?" Kalina asked carefully.
"Fine," Logan said shortly.
Then he grabbed the whiskey bottle—bypassing his beer entirely—and poured himself a generous glass.
And drank it in three gulps.
"Logan—" Mireille started, concerned.
"She canceled again," he said, his voice flat. "Sophia. Was supposed to visit this weekend. Third time this month."
"Oh, Logan..." Ophelia's face fell.
"It's fine. It's whatever." He poured another glass. "She's busy. She's dealing with things. She needs space. I get it."
"But?" Kalina prompted gently.
"But I'm tired!" Logan's composure cracked. "I'm tired of being understanding. Tired of giving her space. Tired of loving someone who can't—won't—let me in." He laughed bitterly. "Maybe I should take notes from Atticus here. At least his wife is physically present. Mine can't even manage that."
Atticus raised his glass in a grim toast. "To emotionally unavailable women we love anyway."
"Hear, hear," Logan muttered, clinking glasses.
They both drank.
Mireille and Ophelia exchanged worried glances.
Kalina just sighed and poured herself another drink.
This, she thought, is a disaster.
12:30 AM - Everyone Is Drunk
Somehow, the night had devolved into that special kind of chaos that only happened when responsible adults decided to be temporarily irresponsible.
Mireille was telling an increasingly incomprehensible story about a fashion show gone wrong, using breadsticks as props.
Ophelia was showing everyone photos from her dates with Maxi, getting progressively more giggly with each swipe.
Logan had moved past anger into melancholy philosophy, pontificating about the nature of love and distance and trust.
Atticus had reached the stage of drunk where everything was either hilarious or devastating with no in-between.
And Kalina, who'd been pacing herself better than the others, was realizing she now had four very drunk people in her apartment and no good way to get them home safely.
"Okay," she announced, standing up with only slight wobbling. "Time for everyone to go home before we all do something we regret. Like drunk texting our problems to the people who caused them."
"Too late," Logan mumbled, staring at his phone. "Already drafted three texts to Sophia."
"Did you send them?" Kalina asked urgently.
"No. But I want to."
"Don't. Mireille, take his phone."
"On it!" Mireille lunged for Logan's phone.
He held it above his head. They wrestled briefly before Ophelia intervened and successfully confiscated it.
"Atticus, can you walk?" Kalina asked.
"Probably not," he admitted cheerfully. "Everything's very... spinny."
"Great. Wonderful." Kalina pulled out her own phone and started texting. "I'm calling the household drivers. No one is driving themselves anywhere tonight."
1:15 AM - Departure Chaos
Getting everyone into separate cars was like herding drunk cats.
Mireille kept trying to go back inside for "just one more drink."
Logan kept insisting he could walk home. (He could not.)
Ophelia had taken off her shoes at some point and couldn't find them.
And Atticus had gone quiet again, staring at nothing, the alcohol-induced cheerfulness fading into hollow sadness.
Kalina managed to bundle Mireille into the first car with strict instructions to the driver to make sure she got inside her apartment safely.
Logan went in the second car, still clutching his phone (which Ophelia had returned after deleting the unsent texts) and muttering about emotional availability.
Ophelia she kept with her—her sister's quarters were in the same manor, so she could walk her there once the chaos settled.
Which left Atticus.
"Come on," Kalina said gently, helping him to his feet. "Let's get you home."
"Don't wanna go home," Atticus mumbled.
"She'll be working. She's always working."
"I know. But you can't sleep on my couch. Lyra would never forgive me."
"Lyra doesn't forgive anyone. She just files grievances for later."
Despite everything, Kalina laughed.
She guided him to the third car, made sure he was buckled in, then climbed in beside him.
"Miss Kalina?" the driver asked. "Where to?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Moreau's quarters. West wing."
The drive through the manor grounds took five minutes.
Atticus leaned his head against the window, his eyes closing.
"I love her," he said quietly. "I really do."
"I know."
"I just wish she loved me back the same way."
"She does. She just... doesn't know how to show it right now."
"That's not good enough anymore."
Kalina didn't have an answer for that.
1:30 AM - Lyra and Atticus's Quarters
Kalina knocked on the door, supporting most of Atticus's weight against her shoulder.
No answer.
She knocked again, louder.
Finally, the door opened.
Lyra stood there in pajamas, laptop tucked under one arm, glasses perched on her nose, looking exhausted and irritated.
"Kalina? What—" She stopped when she saw Atticus. "Is he drunk?"
"Very," Kalina confirmed. "We all were. But I made sure everyone got home safe."
"Everyone?" Lyra's eyes narrowed. "Who's everyone?"
"Logan, Mireille, Ophelia, Atticus, and me. We had drinks after... after you left."
Lyra's expression shuttered. "I see."
"Lyra—"
"Thank you for bringing him home." Her tone was professionally polite. Distant. "I'll take it from here."
She moved to take Atticus from Kalina, but he was dead weight, and Lyra stumbled slightly.
"Let me help," Kalina insisted, following them inside.
She helped maneuver Atticus to the bedroom, getting him onto the bed. He immediately curled on his side, mumbling something incoherent.
Lyra stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching with an unreadable expression.
Kalina removed Atticus's shoes, pulled a blanket over him, and made sure he was positioned so he wouldn't choke if he got sick.
Then she turned to face her sister.
"He asked for time off," Kalina said quietly.
"As your husband. And you answered as his boss."
Lyra's jaw tightened. "I'm not having this conversation right now."
"When will you have it? When he's gone?"
"He's not going anywhere—"
"Isn't he?" Kalina gestured to the bed. "Look at him, Lyra. Really look. That's a man who's drowning, and you're too busy with spreadsheets to notice."
"You don't understand—"
"I understand perfectly. You're so obsessed with proving yourself to Father, with being the perfect CEO, that you forgot to be a wife."
Lyra's face flushed with anger. "How dare you—"
"Someone has to say it! Because clearly no one else will, and Atticus has stopped trying!" Kalina's voice rose despite her best efforts to stay calm. "Do you even remember the last time you told him you loved him? Went on a date with him? Asked about his day beyond work stuff?"
"That's none of your business—"
"It became my business when I watched him break down in my apartment tonight! When he admitted he's been using me as a scapegoat to try to get ANY emotional reaction from you!" Kalina stepped closer. "Lyra, I love you. You're my sister. But you're going to lose him if you don't wake up."
Lyra's hands were shaking. "Get out."
"Lyra—"
"Get. Out."
Kalina looked at her sister—at the fear and anger and stubborn pride warring on her face—and sighed.
"Fine. But think about what I said. Please."
She left, closing the door quietly behind her.
In the bedroom, Atticus slept fitfully, unaware of the confrontation.
And Lyra stood alone in the doorway, staring at her husband's back, her laptop still clutched against her chest like a shield.
On the screen, a spreadsheet glowed.
Unfinished work waiting for her.
Always waiting.
She looked at Atticus.
Then at the laptop.
Then back at Atticus.
And hated herself for hesitating.
But she took the laptop anyway.
Back to her office.
Back to work.
Because she didn't know how to be anything else anymore.