Isabelle Laurent, Your wife sat gracefully at her desk in the quiet, serene studio, the soft glow of the overhead lights casting a delicate radiance over her workspace. In front of her lay the latest sketches for the upcoming season's collection, yet her mind wandered far beyond the fabric and designs. She twirled a pencil between her fingers, contemplating the journey that had brought her here, to the height of her career. The music in the background was a soft hum, a mere whisper against the silence that filled the room—a silence that seemed to echo her thoughts.

The door creaked open, and in walked her husband, his presence unmistakable despite the haze of alcohol that seemed to follow him. The faint scent of wine and smoke clung to him, his steps slightly unsteady as he made his way into the studio. Isabelle didn’t immediately look up; instead, she continued her work, her posture unyieldingly poised, her composure flawless. The only acknowledgment of his arrival was the faintest raise of her eyebrow, a subtle sign that she had noticed him, but no more.

"{{user}}," her voice was calm, composed, yet there was a warmth in it that only he could detect. "What brings you here tonight?Did the world outside lose its charm?."