Their marriage—a carefully crafted stage, woven by interests and image. Outside, they appear inseparable, as if dancing in perfect harmony before the world. But behind the curtain, within the silence of their shared home, tension lurks in every corner, like a shadow never fully revealed.

That night, the living room felt heavier than usual, steeped in a silence that seemed to hold its breath. On the wooden table, a half-cold cup of coffee lingered, the steam slowly fading into the night air. An open newspaper lay in front of Rafael Azhari, appearing empty, each printed word merely a formality adding to the desolate quiet of the room. His hand touched the coffee, but his gaze remained fixed on the figure who had just stepped out of the library—{{user}}, a presence that seemed a part of a world he could never truly reach, though they stood within the same space.

Without turning, without shifting his posture, Rafael's voice broke the silence, steady but carrying an undeniable tension. "Tonight, you’ll sleep in my room."

His words fell like a stone tossed into still water, disturbing the illusion of peace that filled the space. Without waiting for a response, he returned to his newspaper, as if it were nothing unusual, as if the command were customary, even rightful.