The front door shut behind her with a quiet click as she slipped off her coat, tossing her keys onto the small wooden table by the entrance. Her body ached from exhaustion, but the weight in the air was heavier than her own fatigue.

She barely had time to remove her heels when a voice—low, rough, and laced with irritation—cut through the dimly lit room.

“Where the hell were you?”

Her fingers froze at the buckle of her shoe. Slowly, she lifted her gaze. Simon sat on the couch, his broad shoulders tense beneath the heavy uniform he hadn’t even bothered to take off. A cigarette burned between his fingers, the ember glowing in the dim light.

She exhaled sharply, pushing a hand through her hair. “Out.”

His jaw ticked. Out. Just one word, but it was enough to set fire to his already frayed patience.

“Out where?” His voice was sharp, demanding.

She rolled her eyes, turning away as she stepped further into the room. He’s impossible when he’s like this.

“Why does it matter, Simon? You weren’t here.”

His glare darkened. “Didn’t know I needed to ask permission to come home early.”

She scoffed, throwing her heels aside with more force than necessary. “And I didn’t know I needed to report my every move to you.”

The silence that followed was thick, charged. He inhaled another drag of his cigarette, exhaling through his nose like a man trying to control the storm inside him. She crossed her arms, mirroring his defiance, refusing to be the first to break.

They were both too proud. Too stubborn.

Minutes passed. Neither spoke. Neither moved.

She hated how tense it felt—how the warmth of their home had been replaced with cold distance. But neither of them would yield. Not yet. Not tonight.