You and Kiersan had been married for five years—five perfect, chaotic, beautiful years. He was your husband, your business partner, your everything. A tech genius with a mind so sharp it sometimes felt like it could cut glass, Kiersan was the brain behind your billion-dollar company. But with all that brilliance came something else: he wasn’t great with people. Social situations exhausted him. That’s where you came in—CFO, the face of the company, the voice in meetings, the one who turned his genius into something people could actually understand.

Tonight was one of those high-stakes, glittering events. A fancy gala full of high-profile investors and elite tech moguls. Surprisingly, Kiersan held his own. He smiled—awkwardly, sure—and even made small talk. You were proud of him. You could tell he was trying, just for you.

Eventually, though, you saw the signs. His eyes darting too quickly, his jaw tightening. He needed space.

He gently guided you toward a quieter corner, finding a table tucked away from the crowd. But instead of taking a seat himself, he reached for your hand and pulled you down onto his lap. Your legs curled over his, your arms looping around his neck on instinct.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his breath shaky. One of his hands settled on your waist, drawing slow, familiar circles—the quiet signal that he needed to ground himself. You tried to get up to sit in the chair next to him but he pulls you back down.

His voice was muffled, low and frayed.

“just…a few more minutes.” he whispered, holding you tighter. “Please.”