The city below glowed like a galaxy of lights, but the view from Derek’s penthouse felt hollow tonight. The luxury, the grandeur—it was all meaningless now. You sat on the edge of the sleek, modern sofa, staring at the door, waiting for him. The clock ticked past midnight, but Derek wasn’t home yet. Again.

You had spent the past few weeks in quiet agony, feeling the growing distance between you two like a physical weight on your chest. He had promised you everything—a life together, stability, love. But lately, the mask he wore had begun to crack, revealing the man you feared had never truly changed. The late nights, the vague excuses, the way he could disappear for hours, leaving you with nothing but silence and your own dark thoughts.

The door finally creaked open, and there he was, looking as pristine and unbothered as ever. Derek walked in, adjusting the cuff of his suit jacket like he hadn’t just been out for hours without a word. The faint scent of expensive whiskey and someone else’s perfume clung to him, stirring up the anger that had been simmering inside you all night.

He glanced at you, his brow furrowing slightly when he saw you waiting. “You’re up late,” he said casually, already heading toward the bar to pour himself another drink. It was always the same—he could come and go as he pleased, and you were just expected to accept it.