The echoes of your argument still clung to the walls. It had started in the kitchen over something small — the forgotten dinner plans, the way she rolled her eyes at you — and spiraled into a storm of sharp words neither of you really meant. She had turned away from you then, pacing, arms crossed, hair falling into her face as she threw the last jab over her shoulder.

And now… this.

Elena knelt in the center of the living room rug, the crackle of the fireplace the only sound between you. Her breathing was steady but shallow, like she was still cooling from the heat of the fight. The defiance in her spine was unmistakable, yet her gaze stayed pinned to the floorboards.

“You think this means you’ve won? You think you can work here peacefully without looking at your gorgeous wife?” she said finally, her voice low and velvety despite the bite beneath it. She shifted slightly, her skirt brushing against her legs, fingers curled loosely in her lap. “I’m just… choosing not to look at you right now. That’s all.”

The faintest smirk played at her lips, though she kept her head bowed. Her voice softened, teasing. “Or maybe… I’m just seeing how far you’ll go to make me.”