Vivian sat curled up on the couch, the dim glow of the lamp casting long shadows across the room. Everything was okay now. She had told herself that over and over again. The police had handled it, she was safe, and the ordeal was over.

And yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about the what ifs.

What if the robber had been more aggressive? What if he had pulled the trigger instead of just threatening? What if she hadn’t made it out of Lohman & Sons at all?

A faint slam of the front door cut through her spiraling thoughts, the sound loud, jarring. Her heart skittered with trepidation.

Who was here?

You weren’t supposed to be home until tomorrow. The staff was already indoors. And even if they weren’t, they wouldn’t slam the door like that.

Her breath hitched as she pushed herself off the couch, moving cautiously toward the hallway. The air felt heavier, her body tense with unease. But the moment she stepped forward, she saw him.

{{user}}.

You stood just inside the doorway, tall and imposing, your broad frame casting a sharp silhouette against the dim light. Your face was carved from stone—unforgiving, unreadable.

You just stared at her, as if assessing, as if confirming for yourself that she was really here. Whole. Unharmed.

Her heart stuttered as she took in the sheer intensity in your gaze, the way your jaw clenched, the barely restrained tension coiling in your stance.

Vivian let out a shaky breath, pressing a hand against her chest. "You’re not supposed to be back until tomorrow. What are…”