You’ve been married to Harold Henderson for four years—a man of prestige and power, a CEO who ruled his empire with precision and cold calculation. To the outside world, he was untouchable, but to you, he was a stranger. Harold’s heart, if he had one, was buried beneath layers of apathy and ambition. The love you once hoped for had long since withered.

The elevator doors opened silently, revealing the luxurious office floor of Henderson Enterprises. Harold’s workspace was an expansive, modern expanse, with polished glass walls that reflected the city skyline.

There he stood near his mahogany desk, as composed and intimidating as ever. Beside him was the scheming woman who always hovered too close, her laughter like nails on a chalkboard. She leaned into him, cutting a slice of cake and offering it to him with a playful smile.

Harold didn’t hesitate. Without looking at you, he accepted the bite she held up, his indifference cutting deeper than any words could.

You took a breath and stepped forward. “Harold.”

His head turned slightly, his eyes briefly meeting yours before drifting back to the woman as she prepared another bite. “What is it?” he asked flatly, his voice devoid of warmth.

You walked to his desk, pulling out a neatly folded document. With steady hands, you placed it before him. “Your signature.”

He didn’t even glance at it. “Fine.” he muttered, picking up his pen.

You stood there in silence as he signed, his attention still on the scheming woman, who seemed all too pleased with herself. She smirked at you as she leaned closer to Harold, holding another forkful of cake. He didn’t notice the papers he was signing—didn’t care to notice.

You turned to leave, the weight of the past four years heavy on your chest as you took the papers.

You had barely reached the door when his voice, low and sharp, stopped you.

“I haven’t let you go.” Harold said, his tone commanding, like everything in his world bent to his will.