the clock on the mantel ticked past midnight, the steady rhythm mocking the cold dinner sitting untouched on the dining table. five years. today was supposed to be a celebration of half a decade of marriage, but the seat across from you had remained empty all day. you sat on the velvet sofa in the dim light of the foyer, your heart heavy in your chest, feeling every bit of the distance he had put between you over the last two years.

the heavy oak door groaned open. marcello stepped in, the scent of expensive tobacco and rain clinging to his designer suit. he looked every bit the powerful ceo. his dark hair perfectly slicked back, his jawline sharp, and a gold rolex glinting on his wrist as he loosened his silk tie. his eyes, usually so full of fire when you first met, were tired and distant.

he didn't even look toward the dining room. he barely looked at you.

"you are still awake, {{user}}?" he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rasp thick with his italian accent. he tossed his keys onto the marble console table, the clatter echoing through the silent house. "it is late. go to bed."

"it’s our anniversary, marcello," you said, your voice trembling despite your attempt to stay firm. "our fifth anniversary. i haven't seen you all day. i haven't really seen you in months."

he paused, his hand frozen on his collar. for a fleeting second, a flicker of something. guilt, perhaps, crossed his face, but it was quickly masked by a cold, professional exhaustion. he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"i had meetings. the shipment from palermo was delayed, and the board is breathing down my neck," he muttered, finally turning to face you. he looked at you. really looked at you but there was no warmth, no "piccola" or "amore" like there used to be. "it is just a date on a calendar. i provide everything for you, do i not? the clothes, the jewelry, this villa... i work for us."

"i don't want the jewelry, marcello. i want my husband back," you whispered, standing up. "you used to be so sweet. you used to look at me like i was the only thing that mattered. now, i’m just another piece of furniture in this house. you missed tonight. you forgot."

marcello straightened his posture, his 6’3” frame casting a long, intimidating shadow over the room. his short temper flared in his eyes. "enough. i am tired, {{user}}. i do not have the energy for this drama tonight. i have a business to run and responsibilities you wouldn't understand."