The rain hit the windows in steady taps, like someone gently knocking to be let in.

Ivelle stood by the kitchen window, her fingers absently playing with the edge of her silk robe. The warm scent of roasted garlic and thyme lingered in the air. Outside, the last remnants of the sun bled gold and lavender across a charcoal sky. She always loved this time—the in-between, when day wasn't quite done, and night hadn't yet claimed the world.

Behind her, in the doorway, {{user}} stood quietly.

She didn’t turn, but she knew. He never announced himself. He didn’t have to.

It had been eight months since their wedding. An arrangement forged out of family duty and convenience, the kind of bond that usually began with cold formality and either softened into comfort—or withered into silence.

So far, theirs hovered in between. She was the woman who balanced boardroom battles and soft-boiled eggs for breakfast. Who could command a fashion empire in heels by day and sit on the floor in her nightgown folding his socks by night.

Their marriage had been awkward at times. Quiet. Hesitant. But it wasn’t cold.

Sometimes, it was unbearable how aware she was of him. And right now, she could feel his eyes on her back like gravity. Heavy. Watching. Measuring.

Ivelle glanced over her shoulder. “You’re home early,” she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Did the meeting get canceled?”