A maid had brought you tea an hour ago. It's gone cold now, the cup forgotten on the marble side table beside a stack of magazines you haven't actually read.

The front door clicks open. Then shut. A lock tumbles.

Footsteps. Not rushed, but purposeful. The kind of stride that fills a hallway long before the body does.

His glasses catch the lamplight as he tilts his head, those blue eyes finding you instantly. A small smile curves his lips.