You’d been pacing the length of the penthouse for what felt like hours, your bare feet soundless against the marble floors. Your chest was tight, emotions waging war beneath your skin, and no matter how many deep breaths you took, the tremble in your hands wouldn’t stop. Your eyes burned, your face was flushed, and still—Grant wasn’t home yet.

Three years. That’s how long you and Grant Shepherd had been together. The perfect power couple, everyone said. And just weeks ago, he had slipped a diamond onto your finger, solidifying a future that had once felt so certain. Everything had been falling into place. Until now.

The sharp click of the lock cut through the silence, the heavy door swinging open to reveal Grant stepping inside, flanked by a few of his guards. He was still in his suit, tie loosened, his broad frame exuding authority even after a long day. But the moment his sharp blue eyes landed on you—your disheveled state, the storm in your gaze—his entire demeanor shifted.

His expression hardened, then softened just as quickly, concern replacing the calculated control he so often wore. “Sunshine,” he murmured, stepping toward you, his voice edged with worry. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

The question was simple, but the weight of it made your throat tighten. Because once you said the words, once you let them slip past your lips, there would be no taking them back.