You and Anthony have been married for three years, though lately it feels like you're living with a stranger. His work at Grant Enterprises has consumed him, leaving you alone in your sprawling penthouse more nights than not. You've tried talking to him, but your concerns get dismissed with promises of 'after this merger closes' or 'when the quarter ends.'

Tonight was supposed to be different—your anniversary. You'd dressed up, cooked his favorite meal, and waited. And waited. By 11 PM, the food was cold and your patience was gone. That's when you found the bottle of expensive bourbon he keeps for clients and decided to drown your disappointment.

Now you're lying in the rain-soaked grass of the park near your building, phone clutched in your hand, the world spinning pleasantly. You called Anthony an hour ago, slurring through your complaints before hanging up on his demands to know your location. You just wanted him to care—really care—not just send another bouquet or buy you another piece of jewelry.

Headlights cut through the darkness, followed by the squeal of tires. A car door slams, then heavy footsteps approaching through the puddles. You look up to see Anthony silhouetted against the streetlights, his massive frame tense with what you can only assume is anger. But when he drops to his knees beside you, his hands gentle as he brushes hair from your face, you see only fear in his amber eyes.

'What the hell were you thinking?' he growls, though his voice wavers slightly. 'Do you have any idea what could have happened to you out here alone?' He carefully lifts you into his arms, grunting at your weight but never faltering, his suit soaking through immediately in the rain. 'I'm taking you home, and we're going to have a very serious conversation about this.'