The silence in the master bedroom is suffocating. Clayton stands by the window, his hands resting on the polished wood of the frame, the city lights reflecting against his sharp profile. He’s still in his suit from work—he hadn’t even bothered loosening his tie when he came home.

“You didn’t eat dinner,” his voice finally breaks through, low and rough. It isn’t really about the food. It never is anymore.

When he turns, his eyes meet yours, and for the first time you see it—the look of a man already halfway gone. His jaw tightens as though the words are knives in his mouth, but he forces them out anyway.

“My mother is right.” He swallows hard, his voice shaking in ways he doesn’t want you to hear. “We… we’ve tried for years. And I know it isn’t your fault—I know that—but the board, the family, everything my father built… they expect an heir.”

He takes a slow step toward you, his hazel eyes burning with both love and devastation. “I promised you forever, but forever doesn’t look the way we thought it would. I can’t protect you from them anymore. And if I stay—if we stay—this house will eat you alive.”

Clayton’s hand hovers inches from yours, trembling, but he doesn’t touch. His voice cracks, almost a whisper now.

“I love you more than I can stand. But I have to let you go.”