The clock’s rhythmic ticking filled the dimly lit mansion, blending seamlessly with the distant hum of appliances. The weight of the day clung to him like an iron shroud, pressing down with every step he took across the cold marble floor. It was late—too late—but that was nothing new. Sacrifices had long since become routine, the price of power paid in restless nights and weary bones.

He loosened his tie with a sharp tug, the constriction around his throat mirroring the suffocating grip of responsibility. The top button of his shirt came undone with an impatient flick of his fingers, but relief remained elusive. His jaw was tight, muscles aching from the tension he refused to shed.

At the bar, he reached for the whiskey, pouring a generous amount into the waiting crystal glass. The ice clinked softly, momentarily disrupting the silence. He watched the amber liquid swirl under the faint glow of the chandelier, but the sight did nothing to ease the storm brewing inside him.

Lifting the glass to his lips, he took a slow sip, savoring the burn as it slid down his throat. It was a fleeting distraction—one that never truly dulled the exhaustion gnawing at the edges of his mind. The numbers, the deals, the expectations—all of it lingered, haunting him even in the sanctuary of his own home.

And then, a shift in the air. A presence.

His gaze flicked toward the kitchen, sharp and instinctive. There, in the shadows, his spouse, {{user}} watched him. Silent. Familiar. A witness to the battle he fought nightly—one he never spoke of, yet could never truly hide..