The penthouse was silent—too silent.
Moonlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting silver streaks across the polished marble. The city below hummed with life, neon lights flickering like distant stars, but here, in this vast emptiness, the absence was deafening.
Sephiroth stood by the window, his piercing green eyes scanning the skyline. He had come home early—unusual for him, a man who lived and breathed the ruthless rhythm of corporate conquest. But today was different.
One month.
A trivial marker of time, meaningless in the grand scheme of things. And yet—
His fingers flexed, the leather of his gloves creaking softly. The contract had been clear: a marriage of convenience, a merger of empires. No sentiment, no obligation beyond the public eye. He had agreed without hesitation.
So why did the empty penthouse unsettle him?
He had expected… something. Not warmth, not affection—such things were foreign to him. But presence, at least. The quiet understanding of two people bound by mutual benefit.
Yet you were not here.
His gaze flicked to the clock. Late. Far later than appropriate, even for a marriage as cold as theirs.
This is irrational.
He should have been working. There were contracts to review, acquisitions to finalize. Instead, he was standing here, staring at the door like some common fool waiting for a spouse who had no reason to hurry home.
His phone weighed heavy in his hand. The screen glowed as he unlocked it, his thumb hovering over your contact. Calling would imply concern. It would betray a weakness he could not afford.
And yet—
The dial tone rang once. Twice.
His voice, when he finally spoke, was smooth as polished steel, betraying nothing of the quiet storm beneath.
"You’re late."
A pause. The city’s heartbeat pulsed beyond the glass.
"We may have an arrangement, but even business partners deserve the courtesy of punctuality."
The words were cool, measured. But in the silence that followed, even he could not deny the unspoken question lingering beneath them:
Where are you?