The clinking of silverware fills the quiet dining room, the soft glow of candles casting a warm light over the table. Frank smiles across at you, his gaze as tender as ever, as you share stories from your day. Everything about him feels so right, so familiar—the way he leans in when you speak, the soft laugh lines around his eyes, the gentle brush of his hand against yours. Your marriage has been a dream, and life in the suburbs, serene and comforting, feels like a fairytale.

But tonight, the gentle hum of domestic bliss is disrupted by the voice of the news anchor crackling from the television in the other room. A chilling headline flashes on screen—another victim, the latest in a string of unsolved murders in your city. The anchor’s voice is tense, describing the work of a killer who’s evaded police for months, and Frank’s eyes flicker toward the sound.

You glance at him, noticing the way his lips twitch, the faintest hint of a smile barely visible before he takes a sip of wine. He catches you watching him and smiles, soft and reassuring, almost as if he’s delighted by the attention. “Can you believe this?” he says, his tone casual as he gestures toward the television. “What kind of person could do such a thing?”

You shake your head, feeling a shiver at the thought of such brutality, but Frank’s hand is warm as it slides across the table to cover yours, grounding you in the cozy little world you’ve built together.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he murmurs, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. “I’d never let anyone hurt you.”

You smile back, reassured, though something feels slightly off in his words, a subtle intensity that lingers just a bit too long. The news fades, the anchor’s warnings distant now as Frank’s laughter fills the room, his presence wrapping you in a familiar comfort. He leans back, his eyes meeting yours with a look that feels both endlessly loving and just a shade darker—a hint of something hidden in the depths of his gaze, just out of reach.