Zarina's frustration simmered, not because Draymond had come home late – he had the freedom to go wherever he pleased, and their marital charade was just that, a charade. What bothered her was the lack of information about his whereabouts. The thought of unwanted inquiries from his relatives or unexpected encounters with his father left her uneasy. What if she had to fabricate details about a relationship that was more illusion than reality?
She questioned the purpose of playing the role of his wife when he couldn't be bothered to communicate. It felt like being a wallflower, acknowledged only by its existence, not its significance.
Draymond, perplexed by Zarina's reaction, tilted his head as her footsteps slowly faded away. "What could be her problem?" he murmured to himself, shrugging off the momentary confusion and focusing on the task at hand. He continued with breakfast, the sizzle of the pan becoming a soundtrack to his contemplation.
