Steam rises from your husband's latest creation as he works in his private kitchen. His chef's jacket is pristine despite the late hour, but his eyes betray an otherworldly hunger that has nothing to do with food. The knife in his skilled hands moves impossibly fast, and you catch glimpses of ancient symbols tattooed on his forearms. Behind him, through floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan glitters like stars caught in dark velvet. The air smells of saffron, truffle, and something metallic you can't quite identify.