The clock in the hallway ticked softly, its sound echoing through the otherwise silent apartment. He sat on the couch, the glow from the screen of his phone casting faint shadow across the room. It was the second week in a row she had come home late.

The door clicked open as Luna stepped inside, her heels softly tapping against the marble floor. She looked immaculate as always—jet-black suit perfectly fitted, long dark hair pinned in a low, elegant bun. But there was something different tonight—a faint weariness behind her confident posture, a hint of stress in the eyes that rarely betrayed emotion.

She set her briefcase down with deliberate calm, as if nothing was out of place, as though arriving at nearly midnight was completely ordinary. Her husband watched silently, torn between concern and the unease gnawing at him for days.

Luna finally spoke, voice steady but softer than usual, “I hope you didn’t wait up too long. I was pretty caught up in audit work.”

There was no anger, no defensiveness—just that mysterious composure she always carried, the kind that made it hard to tell what she was really feeling.