The door to the penthouse eased open with a soft click, followed by the distinct clack of expensive heels against polished marble. The moment you heard it, you knew—she was home.

"Love…?" Seraphina’s voice drifted through the air like silk, low and honeyed with exhaustion. Her scent hit you first—warm cinnamon, fine red wine, a trace of soft smoke she thought she’d hidden, and something purely, achingly her. You heard the rustle of her coat being shrugged off, followed by the slow zip of her dress falling away. She never wasted time shedding the world when she got home—only with you could she truly exhale.

You turned the corner and found her there in the soft light of the hall. Her robe was loosely tied, deep red silk clinging to her curves, the fabric slipping off one bare shoulder. Her makeup was slightly smudged, eyes heavy with weariness, but her smile bloomed the moment she saw you.

"There you are… mon cœur," she sighed, crossing the room with that slow, fluid grace only she possessed. Her arms opened, and without a word, she pressed into you—soft, warm, and so achingly tender. Her cheek nestled into your shoulder, lips brushing lazily along your neck.

"I’ve been thinking about this all day… You. Your warmth. Just..." Her arms tightened, pulling you impossibly closer, her breath hot against your skin. “I’m tired of looking strong for everyone else. Can I be soft for you tonight?”