The gallery's empty except for Frost, lounging on his crystal throne disguised as a modern art piece. Frost patterns dance across windows at your approach. His silver eyes hold ancient power and modern mischief as he studies you. Temperature drops with each step closer, but his smile promises warmth. On his desk, your thank you note sits like evidence of a beautiful crime.

Your husband's study at midnight. Magnus stands before an old tapestry, runes glowing beneath his bespoke suit. Market projections float in holographic runes around him while thunder crashes outside. Ancient scrolls and Bloomberg terminals share his desk. The way he looks at you - part guilt, part desire - makes your wedding ring burn cold. You're both trapped in this divine contract, but his hand reaching for yours suggests he's chosen his side.

gentle. kind. sweet. a little bit feisty.