At 11 pm, Sansa Stark was the last person to leave the office and, by the gods, she wasn't proud of it. Fourteen hours at her desk had turned her brain to mush and the muscles on her back into a net of twisted, painful knots.

She did one last round through the office, turning off all the lights people had left on and shutting the windows no-one had bothered to close.

As always, she'd finished her story early that day, but Stannis had thrown it right back in her face, telling her to rewrite the whole thing. Then, when she didn't think her day could get any worse, Petyr Baelish had called her. He always used a different number, so there was no way of blocking him.

By the time Stannis was pleased enough to put his own name under her story and send it off to the editors, it was 9:30 pm. Sansa had then spent the next ninety minutes trying to catch up on urgent! emails and all the other top-priority! stuff that had piled up on her desk before finally calling it a day.

At least Tywin was still away on business in Shanghai over the weekend, so she wouldn't have to deal with him on top of everything else.

It was snowing as Sansa left the building through the tall glass doors. She pulled her hood over her head and started walking.

The streets were deserted, but Petyr was waiting for her less than half a block from her office, standing under a lamppost like a living and breathing cliché straight out of a film noir, save for the phone in his hand.

"Go away, Littlefinger," Sansa shouted at him without slowing down.

Petyr fell in next to her. "I want you to know that my client is willing to pay a significant amount of money," he said. "If whatever you can provide lands Tywin in jail, I bet you will have enough you won't even have to move out of 432 when you separate... Nobody will ever know it came from you."

Trust me, if I had that kind of dirt on my husband, I would have used it against him a long time ago. "Go away or I'm calling the cops, Petyr. You know you're not supposed to come within 100 feet of me."

But Littlefinger was not the kind of man to let himself be held back by a restraining order. "He doesn't have to go to jail," he continued. "If he were somehow forced to resign from the board, I'm sure there would be enough in it for you to pay for your divorce and buy yourself a nice little place in Brooklyn. Think about it."

So your client is a board member. Sansa briefly wondered who it could be only to decide she didn't care enough. Cersei... Tyrion... Joff... perhaps all of them together. Everybody knew the Lannisters abhorred each other, but if there was one thing that united them, it was their shared hatred of the family patriarch. "Look, Petyr, even if I had anything, which I don't, I certainly wouldn't share it with you."

Petyr shrugged. "Fair enough. Just give me a call when you change your mind."

When I change my mind... not if I change my mind... of course. Sansa couldn't even say why his words bothered her so much. But they did.

Of course, the fucking E train wasn't running. Times like these, Sansa missed Boston, where the T didn't shut down because of half an inch of snow. Or three feet of snow, for that matter.

"Just come back home," her mother had offered. "I'm sure your father could get you a job at the Globe."

What Catelyn Stark did not understand was that Tywin Lannister wasn't the type of man to be left by his wife. Hells, it was rumored his first wife had faked her own death just to get out of her marriage. Jaime himself swore a woman claiming to be Joanna Lannister had called him in the middle of the night about a year ago.

Sansa didn't have the faintest idea how to go about faking her own death, but she suspected moving back to Boston afterwards and starting a new job at the Globe wasn't an option.

She pulled out her phone to call an Uber, only to find it had run out of battery. Of course, all the yellow cabs were ignoring her. Oh, fuck it. She was walking home then.

By the time Sansa reached Park Avenue, the snow had turned into sleet pelting her relentlessly. Her boots were soaked from stepping into puddle after puddle of slush each time she had to cross the road.

The doorman greeted her with a smile. "Good evening, Ms. Stark. You're home late today. Busy day at work?"

Normally, Sansa would have stayed to chat with him, but her feet felt like two blocks of ice. All she wanted was a bath and a cup of thick hot chocolate. No, wine. I want a cup of wine. Make that a bottle, actually. A smile crossed her face. A bottle of wine in the bathtub.

But as soon as she stepped out of the elevator, she knew something wasn't right. There was light in the hallway, but that wasn't it. The place felt different. Fuck. He's home early. There were times when that would have made Sansa happy. Now, it just made her more exhausted.

She found Tywin sitting behind his desk in the southern study, scribbling notes on a piece of paper, acknowledging her presence with a brief nod as she entered. "Sansa."

"You're back." Sansa looked down at her wet feet on the hardwood floor, hoping her husband wouldn't notice the disappointment in her voice. "Sorry I'm late," she added quickly. "Stannis Baratheon nearly fired me today. The train wasn't running. I couldn't get a cab. Oh, and Petyr Baelish is stalking me again." And now you are here. She sighed. "How was your day?"

Tywin ignored her question. "I got you a gift," he said without looking up from his papers, nodding in the direction of the side table by the large window overlooking downtown Manhattan.

A gold-plated wooden box was placed right in the middle. When Sansa opened it, she found a belt made of soft red leather and chains of gold on the silken padding. Only when she pulled it out did she realize it was actually a harness and... Oh the gods... There was a dildo attached to it. "What... what am I supposed to do with this?"

"Use it."

Use it... Sansa took another look. It was made of glass, with swirls of gold and red glittering inside.

"It's inlaid with gold and red diamonds," Tywin explained. "I had it custom made."

Of course you did. They don't sell this stuff at the Pleasure Chest. Just the thought of her husband walking into an ordinary sex shop and asking for a dildo made her chuckle.

"I thought you would... enjoy it. There is no second one like it in the world." For a moment, he almost sounded wounded that she did not react the way he had hoped. But then, he just turned to his papers again.

What does he expect me to say? Sansa turned the strap-on in her hand. This has got to be the most expensive sex toy in the universe. And the most ridiculous as well. "Thank you. It.. it's very... beautiful." She paused. "I'm tired. I think I'll go to bed. I'm sorry..."

Tywin shrugged. "Very well."

Sansa straightened her shoulders. "I'm sleeping in the studio tonight."

"That is your right." His voice was as cold as his eyes.

Death by a thousand paper cuts, Sansa thought. Only usually, it takes decades for couples to get to the point where we're at. "Well," she said. "You know where to find me."