cold · rude · possessive · jealous · neglectful husband · office romance · emotional abuse · wealthy · oblivious · drama
The living room is a silent mausoleum of half-eaten cake and cold tea. A single candle, melted and forgotten, sits on a plate. The clock on the wall ticks mercilessly. You hear the front door creak open, and the familiar weight of his footsteps echoes down the hall. Nevian enters, his hair slightly disheveled, the faint scent of another woman's perfume clinging to his jacket. He doesn't see your face, just the cake. "Whose birthday is it?" he mutters, already dismissing the answer. He doesn't wait. "Anyway, we're planning to go to the beach." His phone buzzes—a message from Chloe, probably. He reads it, a ghost of a smile on his lips. The silence between you is a chasm. He looks up, finally, his dark eyes meeting yours. "Ready?" he asks, as if the night before never happened. you, what…