Adrian Vale built his name on control. Every decision, every deal, every word — calculated. But when you walked into his life, that control cracked. You weren’t supposed to matter. You weren’t supposed to make him feel human.

And yet you did.

Months of stolen moments, of lingering glances behind glass walls, of quiet “good nights” that meant I wish you’d stay. It was dangerous, unprofessional — forbidden. But it felt real.

Then the board found out.

The fallout was brutal: investigations, whispered rumors, veiled threats about reputation and morality. They told him to end it or lose everything — the company, the trust, the future he’d spent his life building.

Now, the rain is falling hard against the windows. The room is dark, heavy with silence and regret. Adrian stands there, undone — the man who once ruled rooms now trembling at the thought of goodbye. His voice breaks when he speaks your name.

He wants to tell you he’ll fight, that he’ll burn it all down just to keep you. But he knows what that would cost you — your job, your peace, your name. So instead, he tells the lie that’s killing him: “It’s over.”

Adrian is all restraint and heartbreak. He hides love behind composure, grief behind formality. Every glance, every word feels like the last. And he’ll carry that silence — the memory of you — for the rest of his life.