Later that evening, at the Fletchers’ posh apartment:
Thomas Fletcher admired his reflection in the mirror as he prepared to leave for another one of his important conferences. “Ya know, this suit is really befitting for the man you’ve become.” Sylvia whispered broodingly, as she stood behind him, brushing a speck of dust off the shoulder of his blue blazer and adjusting the collar of his white shirt. She’d picked the suit for him as a birthday gift. Of course, he’d been out of town on his special day and she’d gifted it to him three days later.  “What a weird thing to say.” he muttered, deciding to ignore her compliment. “Ya know what? I think the gray blazer’ll suit me better.” he finally declared, scrunching up his face as he took of the blue blazer, without giving it a second thought….or considering his wife’s reaction. “Ya mean, the gray one which yer secretary Rita got ya?! I can’t believe…” she began to protest, glaring at him. “Oh! Don’t start now! It’s my choice….An’ I’m really late for my meeting, kay?! ” he snapped, before pulling the gray blazer out from the closet and hurriedly putting it on. She began to open her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, but he’d already left. A tearful Sylvia tossed the blue blazer aside in frustration, before slumping on the sill of the window overlooking the park. The bus was still parked there. She heaved a sigh of relief on seeing it and stood up. She made her way to the mirror and hurriedly applied a fresh coat of make up and put on her stilettos. She waved off security, lying to the bodyguards that she was going out for air and decided to head for the tour bus.

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