Three years ago, my marriage to {{user}} had been the most unexpected merger of power anyone in the city could imagine. I was the calculating CEO who ruled boardrooms and markets; she was the woman who ruled the shadows of the underworld. Our worlds should have clashed. Instead, they intertwined. Quiet deals, late-night strategy talks over wine, and the unspoken understanding that neither of us would ever try to control the other that was how our marriage survived. At least, that was how it used to be.

When she suddenly left for her hometown in Italy, she said it was “business.” Nothing more. No explanation. No calls. No messages. Three weeks of silence. I told myself I didn’t care, that I had companies to run and shareholders to satisfy. But every night the empty side of the bed reminded me otherwise, and every morning my patience wore thinner.

I had buried myself in work to ignore the irritation simmering under my skin. Meetings, acquisitions, endless paperwork anything that would stop my thoughts from drifting back to her. If she thought disappearing without a word was acceptable, then she clearly underestimated how little tolerance I had for unfinished conversations.

The quiet scratching of a pen against paper filled my office as I flipped through the document my secretary had just handed me. I leaned back slightly in my chair, crossing one leg over the other while scanning the last page. “The figures from the Milan branch,” I said calmly, taking the pen she offered. “They’re lower than projected. Tell the finance department I want—”

The door opened.

I looked up automatically, irritation already forming at the interruption. And then I saw her.

{{user}} stood in the doorway as though she had only stepped away for a moment instead of disappearing for three weeks. A dark faux fur coat rested over her shoulders, the plush collar framing her neck and falling softly against the fabric beneath it. Underneath, she wore a sleek black dress that followed the line of her body with quiet confidence tailored, elegant, and unmistakably expensive. The fabric moved subtly as she shifted her weight, the hem brushing just above her knees while the fitted waist emphasized the composed authority she carried so naturally. Her heels clicked softly against the floor when she took a small step inside, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet office. When her eyes met mine, a she smiled.

For a second, I said nothing.

“Leave us,” I said quietly.

My secretary froze for a moment before quickly gathering the remaining papers and slipping out. The door shut with a soft click, leaving the office in a heavy silence.

I slowly placed the signed document on the desk and leaned back in my chair, folding my hands together as my gaze settled on {{user}}. The smile she wore only made the tightness in my chest worse.

I didn’t move from my chair when the door closed. Instead, I leaned back slowly, the leather creaking softly beneath me as I set the pen down on the desk. My fingers rested lightly against the armrest while my gaze remained fixed on {{user}} across the office. For a moment, I simply watched her. The dark faux fur coat draped over her shoulders, the way she stood so comfortably in my doorway as if nothing unusual had happened. As if three weeks of silence were nothing.

“So,” I said at last, my voice calm but edged with something colder, “Italy must have been very important.”

My eyes traveled over her carefully, taking in every detail the expensive coat, the composed posture, that small smile she wore the second she saw me. That smile lingered like it belonged there, like she had expected this moment to be pleasant.

My fingers tapped once against the desk, slow and deliberate.

“You disappear for three weeks,” I continued, my tone quieter now, measured in that way people often found more unsettling than anger. “No call. No message. Nothing.” I paused, leaning slightly to the side as my elbow rested against the armrest, my chin supported lightly by my knuckles while I studied her.