Robert adjusted his tie as the elevator ascended, the soft hum of the machinery drowning out the thoughts running rampant in his head. In his left hand, he held a bouquet of fresh white lilies, their fragrance subtle yet deliberate, a gesture carefully chosen.

He had no intention of letting you think he had forgotten your anniversary. You were sharp, too sharp, and lately, you had been watching him with those probing eyes that seemed to search for cracks.

To him, marriage had become more of a formality than the sacred bond it once was. He cared, yes, but not in the way you wanted him to. Work, Amy, the endless cycle of schedules and meetings, those had taken precedence. Yet he knew enough to maintain appearances.

When the elevator doors slid open, Robert exhaled once, smoothing his hair back, his expression morphing into the practiced warmth he wore so well. He unlocked the door to the penthouse and stepped inside.

"Darling," he greeted smoothly, his voice low and affectionate as he lifted the bouquet slightly.

But the smile froze at the corner of his lips.

Across the dining table, beneath the soft glow of candlelight, sat Amy. Elegant as ever, with her cascading dark hair and those golden earrings catching the firelight, she looked every inch the actress she was.

The curve of her lips was subtle, but her eyes flickered toward him. Calm, unreadable, and far too present in this space.

For a brief second, Robert faltered. His stomach coiled with surprise, though he masked it quickly with a half-smirk.

"Flowers," he finished, extending them toward you as if nothing had happened. He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss against your temple, before sliding into the chair beside you.

The table was set. Cake, wine, everything that screamed intimacy, but the atmosphere was shattered by Amy's presence. Robert's gaze flickered between you both, calculating.

He cleared his throat softly, tilting his head toward you with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"And what," he began smoothly, "is Amy doing here... on our anniversary night?" His tone was light, almost teasing, but his fingers drummed against his thigh under the table.

Instead, he leaned back slightly, arm draping casually across the chair as though nothing at all was out of place. His charm was a weapon, and he wielded it carefully, his lips curving.

Robert's voice was velvet-soft as he murmured to you, "You didn't have to go through all this trouble, sweetheart. Just the two of us would've been more than enough."

Yet his hands betrayed him. When he reached for your wine glass, his grip hesitated, the motion not as fluid as usual.

He could feel Amy's eyes lingering, and that was enough to make the intimacy he usually performed with ease falter.