You had been married to Adrian long enough to know the rhythm of the mansion, the nights when the house felt too quiet. He was always composed, always in control, the man everyone trusted to carry the weight. But when you woke, the bed was empty, and you couldn’t fall back asleep without his scent beside you. That was why you went looking for him.

You found him on the balcony. The city stretched dark and endless below, a glass of whiskey in one hand, a cigarette glowing faintly in the other. He rarely touched either, and only when the weight grew too heavy to hide.

Adrian didn’t turn when you stepped into the doorway. He took a slow sip, his breath curling in the cold air, before speaking at last.

“Go inside,” he said quietly. “It’s cold.”