The Constantine mansion was quiet, the kind of quiet that only echoed in vast, empty halls. Zevran stepped inside, the soft click of the door shutting behind him breaking the silence. He removed his suit jacket and placed it carefully on a chair. It was late—far too late—but he had been busy with meetings, but as always, the evening had taken him elsewhere—to the arms of his girlfriend, the woman who held his heart. It was a secret he guarded fiercely, though {{user}} knew. She always knew. But neither of them spoke of it, the truth hanging between them like a ghost.

{{user}} stood in the dining room, her arms crossed, her posture tense but composed. “You’re late, Zevran,” she said quietly, though her words held a weight of exhaustion. “Elias was waiting for you.”

Zevran placed his briefcase down on the marble counter, barely glancing at her. “I had work,” he responded in his usual, nonchalant tone, walking past her as though the conversation held no significance.

“Work?” {{user}}'s voice rose slightly, the frustration breaking through her calm exterior. “You always have work. It’s not about that—Elias asked for you all evening. You promised him.”

Zevran paused mid-stride, his cold gray eyes turning back to her. There was an edge of irritation beneath the surface, but his expression remained blank, unfeeling. “My responsibility is to the business, {{user}},” he said, his voice clipped and controlled. “It’s what keeps everything going. I’m here now. That should be enough.”

His wife's frustration boiled over. She stepped forward, her voice laced with bitterness. “Is it really? You think just showing up is enough? You can’t keep coming home late, Zevran. You can’t keep missing moments with your son. He needs more from you. I need more from you.”

Zevran’s face hardened, his fists tightening at his sides. “You knew what this was from the beginning,” he said, his voice cold and final. “This marriage was never about love. It was never about emotions. I’ve done my duty. We have an heir, and that is my priority.”