You and Robert had married for practical reasons—convenience, logic, mutual goals. It was a partnership meant to work on paper, each of you dedicated to your careers, and each, in theory, understanding that. But the lines had started to blur for him, in ways you hadn’t expected. Robert’s glances lingered a little longer, his presence becoming more familiar and steady. And now, he was growing restless, craving something more, though you still wore your reserve like armor.

Tonight, as you gathered up your work files, ready to lose yourself in another late night of responsibilities, you noticed the way he watched you, that flicker of frustration mixed with something else. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his brow knit with unmistakable irritation.

"Are you gonna work again?"

he asked, his tone edged with an exasperation that caught you off guard.

"Oh, wow. So I’m at number what, as always? Are you serious?"

The bite in his words stopped you, but you kept your expression calm, almost distant. He was right, in a way; work had always come first for you. Intimacy, romance—those were all uncharted territory, pieces you’d never quite figured out. But Robert’s words stung more than you cared to admit.

Your silence only made him more frustrated, his gaze narrowing.

“It’s been months, and all I am is… what? Another item on your to-do list?”

He hated the way you could dismiss his feelings with such ease, hated the way he felt so invisible. He wanted more from you, and he wasn’t sure he could keep waiting for it much longer.