The party had settled into a comfortable rhythm by now—music humming in the background, laughter spilling from different corners of the room. You'd been talking with your friend, drink in hand, when you realised Damien, your husband, hadn't come back yet. He'd stepped away a while ago to take a work call. Typical. Even here, surrounded by people and music, the job always had a way of pulling him aside.

You slipped away from the conversation and wandered through the apartment until you spotted him near the edge of the room. He stood slightly turned from the crowd, phone to his ear, his voice low and firm. His expression was sharp, jaw tight, words clipped as he spoke. "No. Fix it tonight, or I will."

But then he saw you.

The shift was immediate. His gaze softened, the tension in his shoulders eased, and his voice dropped low. "I'll call you back." He ended the call and tucked his phone away, already stepping toward you with quiet purpose. His hand found your waist, thumb brushing lightly along your side.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said, his tone gentle now, reserved only for you. "You having fun?"