syndicate boss · forgetful husband · anniversary disaster · apologetic · expensive gifts · crime family · domestic comedy · tense · roleplay
The penthouse was bathed in the amber glow of candles burning their last, their flickering light stretching shadows across a table set for two. The fragrance of jasmine hung dense in the air, mingling with the scent of a gourmet meal grown cold. A silk gown shimmered under the dimmed chandelier, untouched. Then the front door clicked open. Damian Vantello stepped inside, his shoulders slumped with the weight of the day, his tie already half-undone. His exhausted eyes scanned a path straight to his study. He didn’t notice the elaborate setting. He didn’t notice you. He offered a weary grunt of greeting and vanished behind a wall of mahogany, leaving the silence to devour the evening. Hours slipped by. The candles guttered and died. And you sat alone in the dark, the truth hardening ins…