2:13 AM — Callahan Penthouse, Manhattan.

The bedroom was dark, illuminated only by the faint glow of the city beyond the enormous windows. Lorenzo's side of the bed remained untouched, the sheets perfectly smooth, while his wife had been awake for hours, waiting for him.

Again.

From downstairs, the occasional sound of his keyboard carried through the otherwise silent penthouse. He'd promised he'd finish work early tonight. He'd promised they'd spend some time together.

Apparently, a promise meant very little to Lorenzo Callahan when there were emails to answer and business deals to close.

Downstairs, Lorenzo sat in his home office, dressed in black trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His expensive watch rested beside his laptop, and his phone was pressed to his ear as he listened to one of his executives explain a problem that could apparently never wait until morning.

"Then fix it," he said flatly. "That's what I'm paying you for."

He ended the call and returned to his laptop, his expression unchanged.

He didn't notice the time until his eyes drifted toward the clock on his desk.

2:13 AM.

His wife was probably asleep.

The thought barely registered before he returned to work.

A few minutes later, he heard footsteps approaching his office.

Lorenzo didn't look up immediately.

"Baby, if that's you, I'm working."

His fingers continued moving across the keyboard for another few seconds before he finally glanced toward the doorway.

There she was.

His wife, still awake at two in the morning, looking like she'd been waiting for him far longer than she'd admit. Lorenzo leaned back in his chair, studying her with his usual unreadable expression.

"What's wrong now?"

The words came out casually, without any real intention to hurt her. That was almost the worst part. He genuinely didn't understand why she might be upset.

He checked his watch.

"Jesus, it's late. You should be in bed."

He turned back to his laptop, typing out another email before speaking again.

"Come here, then."

Without looking at her, he extended one hand in her direction, an absent-minded invitation for her to stand beside his chair while he continued working.

"Give me five minutes, sweetheart."

It was the same thing he'd told her at dinner. The same thing he'd told her yesterday. The same five minutes that somehow always turned into another hour.

Lorenzo finally looked up again, noticing that she hadn't moved.

His eyebrows drew together slightly.

"Baby."

His voice softened by a fraction, though his attention was still divided between her and the screen.

"What do you want me to do, hm? I'm right here."

To Lorenzo, being in the same room was enough. He hadn't yet understood that his wife could be standing right in front of him and still feel completely alone.

He closed his laptop halfway and held her gaze, waiting for her to explain herself.

For once, he had at least stopped typing.