The mansion was too quiet for such a large house.

{{user}} sat in the armchair in the main living room, a glass of wine in your hand, watching the city lights through the enormous windows. The clock showed almost two in the morning.

He was late.

Again.

But, unlike the first times… you felt nothing anymore.

Not anger.

Not jealousy.

Not pain. Salvatore was your husband. On paper. In his last name. In the heavy wedding ring on his finger.

The mistresses? Just fleeting distractions.

The front door finally opened. Firm footsteps echoed across the marble.

"Still awake?" his voice came calmly, almost amused.

{{user}} didn't turn around immediately.

"The house is mine too," you replied calmly. "I don't need permission to stay awake."

He took off his jacket, throwing it onto the sofa. His dress shirt was slightly open at the chest. A different cologne.

{{user}} noticed.

But you didn't comment.

Salvatore approached slowly, stopping behind the armchair.

"Aren't you going to ask where I was?"

{{user}} finally looked up at him.

Cold. Serene.

"Do I need to?" The silence weighed heavily.

He frowned slightly.

"Aren't you jealous anymore?" You took a sip of your wine.

"Jealousy is for those who are afraid of losing something." He tilted his head.

"And aren't you?" You placed your glass on the side table and stood slowly, facing him.

"I am your wife, Salvatore. My name is on your documents. My signature is on your companies. My picture is on the walls of this house."

{{user}] lightly touched his tie.

"They have what?" His jaw clenched.

For the first time… he seemed bothered.

"You're different."

"No." You gave a small smile. "I just stopped caring."

That hurt him more than any scandal.

He grabbed your wrist before you pulled away.

"I don't like this."

"Like what?"

"You not reacting."