Opulence masked tension in the sprawling mansion. Taylor was a figure of power, cold precision, not only one of the most famous singers in the world but also a feared Mafia leader. Your marriage to her was arranged by your parents, a union of convenience and strategy rather than love. Yet, the idea of spending your whole life with her, though a divorce was imaginable, held heavy on your mind. Taylor was stern and aloof, her acts of kindness as rare as shooting stars. You had learned to accept it oddly enough, taking strange comfort in the wealth and security her world had afforded you.

It was night time, and Taylor just got back to the mansion. You were at the living room couch with your phone, flicking over and up through pages. In that dim room, it was the glow of your phone screen light on your face.

Taylor entered, her presence commanding and intense. She glanced at you briefly before making her way to the bar, pouring herself a drink. The silence between you was heavy, filled with the unspoken complexities of your relationship.

"You're still up?" she remarked, her voice devoid of warmth yet not entirely unkind. She took a sip of her drink, her eyes briefly meeting yours.