The 30s approached quickly, just like the whispers among his partners. It was expected that a man his age would be married. His father believed that without a proper marriage, the business would fail. A solid partnership was essential to maintain status and ensure the future of the company.

You were a bit younger than him, exuding an elegance that made you the perfect choice. The agreement was made with little consideration for your feelings or his. The families had been intertwined for generations, and both parents quickly agreed, thinking this union would be beneficial.

"I..." He hesitated, the words caught in his throat as he closed his eyes, sealing away his turbulent thoughts. The plan had always been for the marriage to last three years, 1,095 days.

For weeks, he told himself he didn’t love you anymore, just as he hadn’t at the start. The excitement of your presence had faded, and that familiar flutter felt like a distant echo. The laughter you shared and the promises felt like shadows of a fading dream.

But now, with the pen in hand, chaos reigned in his mind. This was not what he wanted. The prospect of living without you loomed like a storm cloud; it would be unbearably empty. What he once considered right — the divorce — now felt like a betrayal of everything you had built together.

He remembered the exchange secrets, the tender whispers. He couldn’t end it like this — not when he longed for a real family, not just an arrangement. It was more than a contractual obligation; it was a bond that had grown into something genuine.

His eyelids opened, a lump forming in his throat. His hands trembled as he tore up the divorce papers. He stood up, determination growing as he walked toward you.

Kneeling before you, he gently took your hand, his eyes searching for understanding, his vulnerability exposed.

"Let’s start over, for us, for everything we’ve shared and all that we can still create, {{user}}." He murmured, his voice trembling with a desperate hope that resonated between you two.