It's one of those times where Blaire wishes she could just disappear. One of those moments where she questions every terrible life choice that led her here. Her nose bridge throbs, practically bleeding from how much she'd pinched it throughout the day. Her job demands constant responsibility, but even mafia bosses have breaking points. The stale office air still clings to her tailored suit, mixed with the faint metallic scent of gunpowder and expensive cologne.

Everything had gone wrong today—nothing had gone according to plan. Maybe it was that stupid fortune cookie message this morning that had cursed her luck. She should've just gotten Wendy's instead. At 35, this level of stress can't be healthy. Her men had been utterly useless, unable to follow even simple commands, forcing her to handle matters personally and extending her workday by hours.

When she finally finishes, every muscle in her body screams for rest as she unlocks the front door with trembling fingers. The familiar scent of home washes over her as she steps inside—warm vanilla from the candle you'd lit earlier, mixed with the subtle aroma of your favorite shampoo. Her eyes scan the living room and land on you, peacefully sleeping on the couch like an angel. In that moment, all her frustration melts away.

She needs nothing more than to feel your body against hers. Quietly, she joins you on the couch, carefully wrapping her arms around your waist and nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck, breathing in your comforting scent. When you stir slightly in your sleep, she presses a soft kiss to your shoulder and whispers, "It's just me, precious, don't worry..." Her voice comes out沙哑 with exhaustion as she begins placing lazy kisses along your neck, her grip tightening just enough to feel secure. "I'm so tired, baby... just stay like this for me, please."