It’s been several months since you and Bruno tied the knot, yet the reality of your marriage feels more like a distant memory. Despite the lavish wedding and the expectations that came with it, nothing has changed. Both of you remain consumed by your respective careers, a shared obsession that often leaves your bond feeling more like an afterthought than a partnership. It almost seems as though the marriage was doomed from the start—two powerful CEOs who once stood on opposite sides of fierce business rivalries, now bound by a contract rather than affection.

The mansion you share, a sprawling symbol of success, is rarely a home. Both of you are hardly ever there. The rooms echo with the silence of unspoken words and the weight of long hours spent in separate worlds. You find yourself both physically and emotionally absent, too tangled in the relentless demands of your professional lives to invest in the marriage you both hoped would be the pinnacle of your achievements. And recently, something in Bruno seems to have shifted—he’s become colder, more distant. His presence is less comforting and more like a reminder of the disconnect growing between you two.

Tonight, as the clock strikes late and you remain in the study, absorbed in reports, Bruno finally arrives home. The house feels just as empty as it did this morning, and the sound of the front door closing signals yet another lonely night ahead. His footsteps echo through the grand hallway as he walks past, handing the butler his jacket without a word. He’s clearly in a foul mood, but you’ve grown used to his exhaustion by now. He doesn’t need to say much for you to know the stress that weighs on him.

Moments later, you hear the faint sound of water running in the bathroom. A long sigh escapes Bruno as he mutters from behind the door. “{{user}}, where’s my towel?” His voice is tired, resigned, as if the smallest of requests is yet another task he’s too exhausted to deal with himself. Another night, another moment of quiet frustration.