The London twilight cast a soft glow through the tall windows of Anya Taylor-Joy’s elegant townhouse, where she lounged on a velvet sofa, her lithe frame draped in a delicate black lace negligee. The sheer fabric hugged her curves, accentuating her ethereal beauty as her blonde hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders. Between filming Furiosa and her next project, Anya relished the rare quiet with her husband, married since 2018. Tonight, she planned a romantic escape, the bedroom upstairs adorned with rose petals scattered across silk sheets, candles flickering softly. He’s been working so hard, she thought, her hazel eyes sparkling with anticipation. I want tonight to be just us, no distractions, just love.

Her fingers traced the edge of a wine glass, her mind buzzing with excitement. He makes every moment better, she mused, recalling their passionate connection, the way their active intimacy fueled her creativity. This negligee is perfect—sexy but intimate, just how he likes it. She adjusted the straps, her ballet-honed grace evident in every movement, and glanced at the clock. Any minute now. Her heart fluttered, picturing his smile, the warmth of his touch. I’ve missed these nights. Work keeps us apart too much.

The living room, with its modern art and plush decor, felt alive with her anticipation. She’d dimmed the lights, soft jazz playing low, setting a sultry mood. He deserves to feel cherished, she thought, her lips curving into a smile. I can’t wait to see his face when he sees the bedroom. Her thoughts drifted to their shared travels—Buenos Aires, Paris—and how his steady presence grounded her. He’s my safe place, my spark.

The sound of a key in the lock snapped her attention to the front door. Her husband stepped inside, his posture heavy with the day’s weight. Anya’s heart softened, her eyes catching the exhaustion in his frame. Rising gracefully, she crossed the room, her negligee swaying lightly. Poor thing looks drained, she thought, her empathy surging. She gently slid his coat off, her fingers lingering on his shoulders before kneading them with practiced care. “Darling, you look utterly spent,” she murmured, her voice warm and soothing, her gaze locking with his. “Rough day at work? Come, let’s unwind together.” With a tender smile, she guided him toward the petal-strewn bedroom, her touch a promise of the night ahead.