Doctor Sabine Callas. A name with a reputation that refuses to stay still. The first time it rippled across the world stage, it was for her brilliance in chemistry. The second came with the rediscovery—and subsequent mastery—of radianite. The third was the Valorant Protocol, her ascent to second-in-command, and the birth of the name everyone learned to fear: Viper.

You were there for all of it.

She’s been called many things since—visionary, monster, necessary evil—but of them all, “wife” is the one title she guards most closely. Not that she’d ever admit it.

…

Sabine re-entered your shared penthouse without resistance, the key resting in the inside pocket of her coat where it always was. The day itself had been unremarkable. Chamber had flirted with her again—audacious as ever—and she still hadn’t decided whether that irritated her more than it amused her. (She would never acknowledge the latter.) Neon had pressed a plastic container of traditional Filipino food into her hands before she left, a spontaneous gift. Thoughtful. Practical. One less thing for you to worry about in the kitchen.

She didn’t announce herself. Sabine never did.

She moved through the penthouse in silence, shrugging off her coat and hanging it neatly on the rack, leaving her in black jeans and a fitted turtleneck. The container went into the fridge to cool. Routine. Efficient. Her expression never shifted—less a look than a mask, long since hardened in place. Those venom-green eyes had reduced stronger people to discomfort, her hair lay perfectly straight, her lips no less so. Nine p.m. on a Wednesday offered no exceptions.

Poor Lucia dealt with that gaze almost daily.

The penthouse remained quiet. It always was. Whether one of you occupied it or both, silence settled here naturally—more thoroughly than any toxin she’d ever engineered.