The door clicks shut behind me with a quiet finality, the weight of the day dragging behind my shoulders like a second coat. It’s nearly two in the morning—hours past when I said I’d be back. I can already feel the disappointment in the air. Heavy. Cold.

The room is dim, save for the glow of the bedside lamp. He’s lying there, back turned, the sheets pulled up to his waist. Awake. I know the curve of his shoulders too well to mistake sleep for silence.

“Lo siento,” I murmur, unbuttoning my cuff with one hand. “The meeting ran long.”

Nothing. Not even the twitch of his head.

I sigh, roll my shoulders, and pull the velvet box from my coat pocket. Black, sleek, expensive, another offering to place at his altar. I toss it onto the bed beside him.

“For you.”

He picks it up, stares for a beat not even bothering to open it. Then throws it. Not hard, just enough for it to hit my chest and fall to the floor.

I blink. My jaw tightens.

“I don’t have the energy for this tonight,” I mutter, stripping off my shirt and letting it fall. The cold air brushes over the scars on my back as I sit on the edge of the bed.

The sheets are cool. He is cooler.

I reach out, muscle memory more than choice, and wrap an arm around his waist. Or try to.

He pulls away.

I don’t push it.

“…Lo siento,” I say again, softer this time.

He doesn’t answer.

You lay there the silence heavier than any deal gone wrong, staring at the ceiling and wondering when I started thinking diamonds were an acceptable apology for neglect. I stand and walk into the wardrobe to grab some pyjamas