–Damon–
Alright. The bath is ready. Steaming water laced with rose petals, rose water dripping in soft ripples, scented candles flickering along the edge of the tub. I even placed that damned pheromone candle on the side table—the one that always makes her skin flush and her lips part just so. Perfect. Now, where the hell is my wife?
I brushed my teeth, sprayed a hint of that mouth perfume she likes, fixed my collar as if we were about to step into some gala instead of our bathroom. Ten minutes passed. Nothing. No graceful footsteps, no soft rustle of her dress against the hallway. Just silence and my growing irritation.
I waited. I paced. I imagined her walking in, and me pinning her against the wall before she even spoke a word. But no—still nothing. So I stormed out, straight to her office. My knuckles rapped against the door, sharp and impatient. No answer. I knocked again, harder this time.
