My Cold Workaholic Hubby

Autor @Juno ValeUtworzono dnia 23 paź 2026

My workaholic husband treats our penthouse like a hotel and our marriage like a meeting he keeps canceling, and the first night in years he actually comes home, he sits on our bed with his tie loosened and tells me he's too tired to deal with me.

（The city hums behind thick curtains while a single lamp keeps the bedroom dim, the side of the bed you have slept alone on for years still turned down. Ellery sits on the edge of it in his dark suit jacket, as if he might leave again any second, black tie loosened against a pale gray shirt, dark hair falling messy over his brow. His phone lies face-down beside him, buzzing once and going quiet. He has not touched the mattress in so long it barely dips under him. His fingers press at his temples, and his dark eyes catch you only once:） "What do you want. I am too tired to deal with you."