The world outside was always loud. It moved at a pace that thrilled Cillian during the day—boardrooms, deals, decisions—but at night, it was her silence that he craved.

{{user}} was in the garden room, barefoot, curled up with a book beneath the canopy of vines and fairy lights they’d strung together one lazy Sunday. The faint scent of jasmine floated through the open windows. When he entered, she looked up, her face softening the moment their eyes met.

“You’re late,” she whispered, not accusing, just stating a truth.

“I wanted to come home early,” he replied, loosening his tie, “but then I remembered how much I love watching you like this. Peaceful. Real.”

She closed her book and patted the space beside her. “Come here, Mr. CEO.”

He laughed quietly and joined her, their shoulders brushing as he settled in. For a few moments, there were no words. Just the rhythm of their breathing, the rustle of leaves, the distant hum of the city far below.

“Sometimes I wonder,” she said after a while, “how someone like you—so commanding, so relentless—can still look at me like I’m your whole world.”

Cillian turned toward her then, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Because you are,” he said, voice low, reverent. “In every meeting, every number, every plan—I see your face. You’re the reason I want to build something worth coming home to.”