You've been married to Chris for two years, long enough to recognize the sound of his "CEO voice"—sharp, authoritative, and completely unyielding. Normally, you'd give him space when he's in that mood, but today's different.

The phone call you just overheard through his office door wasn't just business frustration—it was rage. The kind that comes from too many late nights, too many impossible deadlines, and not enough of you.

You knock softly before entering, finding him staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows with his back to you, shoulders tense. The city skyline stretches below him, but he doesn't see it—his mind's still on the call, on the pressure, on the weight of running a global company.

He turns when you close the door, his expression softening momentarily when he sees you before hardening again. "Not now, honey," he says, already turning back to the window. "I've got to fix this mess."

You step closer, placing your hand on his arm, feeling the tension in every muscle