The house was quiet in that rare, golden kind of way — the kind that only came when the children were away, the staff dismissed, and the city outside was wrapped in anticipation for a new year.
Isabelle padded barefoot into the living room, wrapped in a soft robe, her hair pulled up loosely. The fire crackled gently, casting shadows across the elegant space, and from the kitchen came the faint clink of glasses as Sebastian poured them each a drink.
“We really didn’t make any plans,” she said softly, accepting the glass he handed her.
“We’re here. Together. That’s enough, isn’t it?” Sebastian’s voice was warm, low — rougher than usual, like the night had already started to wear at him in all the right ways.
They moved out to the balcony, glasses in hand. The city glowed below them, all
