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I huffed, ‘No way.’ I stood up, putting some much-needed space between us.

‘There’ll be paps or TikTok detectives down there by now,’ I said. ‘Probably zooming in on my pores or noticing my eyebrows moving. I’ve missed a Botox appointment!’

‘At least they’ll know you’re alive,’ he muttered, rolling his eyes. ‘There was a conspiracy theory trending that I murdered you.’

‘I know,’ I said with a snigger.

Rupert blinked at me. ‘And you didn’t think that was maybe the moment to come out of hiding?’

I gave a casual shrug. ‘I wanted to make you suffer,’ I said, like I was talking about cancelling brunch, not emotionally torturing my husband with my unexplained absence. I hadn’t realised until that moment how true those words were.

‘Harriette, that is barbaric.’ But his mouth twitched, fighting a smile. ‘God, I missed you.’

Before I could stop him, he got to his feet and reached out, brushing his finger along my cheek – so light it made my stomach flip in the most annoying way. Wow. No. Absolutely not.

I took a step back and turned towards the balcony doors.

Outside, sleet hammered against the glass, trying its absolute best to become snow in time for Christmas. A bit dramatic and unnecessary, but fair enough.

‘Did you miss me at all?’ Rupert asked quietly.

I paused, considering.

‘I missed everything,’ I admitted. ‘I didn’t want to get out of bed for the first week. All I thought about was our house, our mornings, our bed, my clothes, my underwear – God, I missed matching my pants to my bra! I’ve had to wear my mum’s Matalan hold-me-ins. And her Primark thongs. I don’t know which were worse.’

Rupert looked like he was trying to erase that particular image from his mind immediately.

‘And our bath, oh my God, our huge free-standing bath and my Jo Malone candles,’ I said, throwing my head back. That bath was my favourite place to go after a day of filming. I remember when we first moved into the house, Rupert and I would sink in together, drinking champagne and planning ideas for my channel, back when it was all still exciting and new and full of possibility.

‘I can run you one,’ he said quickly, nodding towards the bathroom. ‘I brought Molton Brown toiletries and salts.’

Of course he did. I mean, probably for himself, but that did sound like heaven.

I swayed slightly, suddenly unsure. I knew this man. Or at least I used to. But standing here now felt strange. Like I’d spent so long turning him into the villain that I didn’t know what to do now he was just him. A bit sad. A bit pathetic. But wanting to be kind.

‘Let me do this for you,’ he said softly, gesturing to my outfit. ‘You must be uncomfortable in that . . . combination.’

I glanced down at myself. He wasn’t wrong.

‘Fine,’ I said. ‘But make it piping hot.’

‘Right, oh, yes, of course,’ he said, already moving. ‘Piping hot. Got it.’ He practically bolted into the bathroom.

I let out a breath and glanced back out at the city, wondering how the hell I’d ended up here. My thoughts drifted to the Gorbals and everything I’d left sitting there, unresolved. I slipped my hand into my back pocket, relief flooding me when I felt my phone still there. By the time Rupert informed me that my bath was ready, I was desperate for five minutes of alone time.

Rupert slipped out past me, giving me space to undress, and I stood there for a second, staring at the bath. I shut the bathroom door behind me and locked it. White bubbles, proper thick ones, and a cinnamon perfume lingering in the air – ridiculously nice, but I wondered if with that much scent, a yeast infection was pending. Still, an itchy vag would be the least of my problems. I sank into the bath with a sigh, letting the heat soak into my bones. It was perfect.

After dunking my head under and washing my hair, I reached over for my phone, water still dripping down my arms, and clicked on my messages.

Me: Hey, Mum, just to say I’m OK xx

Read. Instantly.

Mum: Where are you, hen? What is he saying to it?? X

I bit my lip, staring at the screen, trying to summarise what had just been one of the most chaotic evenings of my life into one calm, normal-sounding message. It was absolutely impossible.

Me: In the Blythswood. He’s trying to sort it. He’s very sorry x