The house was vast, silent, and impeccably curated-a stark contrast to the chaotic, vibrant clutter of her old studio. For three days, Rose had paced the marble floors of the penthouse that now served as her home.
She had expected a transactional arrangement, a cold, distant husband who would view her as a trophy or an employee. She had braced herself for late-night meetings, cold demands, or at the very least, a conversation about "expectations." Instead, she had been greeted by an army of staff.Her morning tea was served at exactly 7:00 AM, brewed to the precise temperature she preferred. Her wardrobe had been updated with exquisite fabrics that made her fingers itch to begin cutting. If she wanted for anything, it appeared before she could even voice the request.
Rose sat on the edge
