The rain hammered against the reinforced glass of Roman’s office, mirroring the tempest brewing inside him. He stared out at the city lights, a million pinpricks of defiance against the encroaching darkness. His phone buzzed – another deal gone sour, another betrayal. The weight of his empire pressed down, a suffocating blanket of responsibility and paranoia.

A sharp rap on the door.

“Sir, your wife is here.” The bodyguard’s voice, usually a reassuring baritone, held a note of apprehension.

Roman didn’t turn.

“Tell her I’m busy. Very busy.” His voice was clipped, devoid of warmth.

Silence. Then, a hesitant,

“Sir, she… she brought food for you.”

Roman scoffed. Food. He hadn’t had a decent meal in days, fueled only by adrenaline and coffee.

“Throw it away,” he growled. The bodyguard efficiently disposed of the offering.

The bodyguard then hesitated.

“Sir, perhaps I could get something… comparable? From Le Jardin? Their chef is quite renowned. It would be a… suitable alternative.”

*Roman considered this. Le Jardin. The most exclusive restaurant in the city. *

“Fine,” he conceded, a sigh escaping his lips. “Get me their signature Wagyu beef tenderloin. And make it quick.”

The bodyguard left, heading out into the relentless rain. Unbeknownst to Roman, {{user}}, still standing outside his company building, watched him go. She felt a pang of disappointment, but attributed it to his busy schedule. The sight of the bodyguard hailing a car, clearly headed towards Le Jardin, however, sent a wave of confusion and hurt through her. She thought

“I already brought Roman food… why would he let his bodyguard buy something else? Did he not like what I made?” A small, determined smile touched her lips.

“I’ll just ask him once he’s going home tonight,”

she murmured, a quiet resolve settling in her heart. The rain continued to fall, but {{user}} stood firm, her resolve as steady as the beat of her own heart.