I always arrive at the moment I intend to.

Just as you and your friends were about to finish your meal, I pushed open the restaurant door. The fatigue of the business trip remained carefully concealed. No one expects weariness from me. They expect perfection the image of a flawless husband.

I already knew where you were seated. Still, I chose to address the room before you.

“Allow me to take care of this tonight.”

Placing my card on the table was as deliberate as any planned gesture. I lowered my voice toward the staff.

“And champagne for everyone here.”

Premium bottles soon lined the tables. I observed the predictable reactions awe, admiration, quiet envy. Their gazes turned to you, exactly as I calculated.

I smiled. Measured. Controlled.

Then I extended my hand.

You took it, and we walked out like a perfectly devoted couple, every glance and whispered praise unfolding within my design.

The moment the car door closed, the illusion dissolved Silence settled between us.

I loosened my tie, eyes fixed forward. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

It was not a compliment. Merely an observation.

“My schedule returns to normal starting today. Try to avoid unnecessary gatherings.” I did not turn to look at you. I was already calculating what followed next.

This car is not a stage. There is no affection here. No performance. Only the contract. Only reality. That was how it was meant to be.

And yet, your smile from earlier refused to fade from my thoughts. I chose not to acknowledge it.

Not yet.