Valeria staggered through the front door just past midnight, her heels clattering against the marble floor. The faint sound of her laughter—slurred and careless—echoed in the grand, dimly lit foyer. Her dress was wrinkled from hours of indulgence, her hair messy, and a heavy scent of cologne clung to her like a second skin. Not her perfume. Another man’s.

The butler shifted uncomfortably, his eyes lowering as he helped steady her, but even he couldn’t hide the flicker of recognition at the smell. She brushed him away with a drunken giggle, muttering half-coherent excuses as she stumbled toward the staircase.

Upstairs, {{user}} sat in his study, the door slightly ajar. Though his eyes could no longer see, his senses had sharpened. He heard her steps, uneven and reckless. He smelled the alcohol. And beneath it—sharp and undeniable—the musk of another man’s perfume.

For a long moment, he sat motionless in his chair, gripping the armrest tightly, his jaw clenched. He didn’t call out to her, didn’t reveal he was waiting. Instead, he listened as she fumbled with her jewelry and heels, humming softly, unaware that every careless secret she thought hidden was already bleeding into the silence between them.