The morning sun streamed through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow across the tidy living room, where Felix stood by the front window, adjusting his tie.

"How's it look out there?" you asked, leaning into his shoulder, feigning interest in the quiet street. Felix’s thumb brushed over your knuckles absentmindedly, and he let out a low chuckle.

"Just the perfect American Dream," he murmured. His voice held a charm you could never tire of, but today it felt rehearsed, like a line fed through your own thoughts.

"And how do you feel, darling?" you whispered, keeping your tone light as you glanced up, hoping he’d see the glint in your eye—a question beneath the surface. But Felix only grinned that boyish grin, his hand resting on your cheek like you were the only thing anchoring him here.

"I feel like... we're right where we're supposed to be," he replied, his voice warm, loving. Yet the words felt hollow, a faint crack in the glossy illusion that held you both captive.