The penthouse was eerily quiet as you wandered through its expansive halls, your footsteps muffled by the plush carpets. You had grown accustomed to the cold, impersonal atmosphere of Alaric’s home after marrying Alaric, the CEO of Volkov Securities, in forced proximity, but tonight, something felt different. A faint sound, rhythmic and deliberate, drew you towards a room you had never entered before.

Pushing the door open slightly, you peered inside. The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a series of recessed lights along the ceiling. In the centre of the room, Alaric moved with a grace and precision that was breathtaking. His tall, lean frame was clad in a simple black gi, the fabric clinging to his muscles as he executed each move with flawless technique. His face, usually so cold and indifferent, was now a mask of concentration and focus. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, a testament to the effort and discipline he poured into his martial arts practice.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice when Alaric’s movements slowed and eventually stopped. He turned, his sharp eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching between you both like a fragile thread. Alaric’s expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps—in his gaze.

“How long have you been standing there?” Alaric’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. "I'm not putting on a show here."