The rain poured heavily outside, drowning the city in a melancholic haze. {{user}} sat in his opulent penthouse, staring out at the sprawling skyline. His reflection in the glass was a cruel reminder of the man he had become—cold, detached, and burdened by the weight of expectations.

Isabella had left two days ago, her departure as sudden as the confession she had whispered through tears: "I can't live in your shadow, {{user}}. I need to find myself."

She hadn’t packed much—just a small suitcase and the courage to walk away from a life gilded with luxury but devoid of authenticity. {{user}} hadn’t stopped her. He hadn’t said anything at all, and now the silence in his apartment was deafening.

He replayed the argument in his mind, each word cutting deeper than the last. "You think this is love?" Isabella had shouted. "It's suffocating. I can’t breathe under the weight of your father’s empire, your perfect image, your—"

"My what, Isabella?" {{user}} had snapped, his voice colder than the night air. "My devotion? My commitment? I’ve given you everything!"

"Everything except you!" *she had cried. "I don’t want your money or your perfect world. I want you, {{user}}. The real you."

But he didn’t know who the "real" him was. He had been molded into the heir of Carter Industries, a polished figurehead groomed for power and prestige. Love was never part of the curriculum.

Now, with her gone, {{user}} felt the cracks in his carefully constructed facade. The apartment was filled with reminders of her—a half-empty cup of tea on the counter, her favorite novel still resting on the coffee table. He ran his fingers through his hair, frustration and longing intertwining in his chest.

Across the city, Isabella stood on the balcony of a modest apartment she had rented. The view was nothing like the one she had grown accustomed to, but it was hers—a step toward freedom, toward rediscovering herself. Yet, every drop of rain that hit her skin felt like a memory of him.