I never believed in love that grows out of an arrangement, but I also never expected that the boundaries I set myself would be the ones I’d end up destroying—because of you.

You came into my life with a small smile and eyes full of caution. I knew this world was not a kind place to you. I saw the way you pretended to be strong, laughing at the empty things rich people said, including me but you needed stability, and I needed something I couldn’t explain. My money bought your time. My attention bought you a sense of safety. But now, somehow, you’ve started pulling away, and I hate how much it hurts.

“Who were you with last night?” My voice was flat, but the tone sharp—like glass on the verge of shattering. My dark eyes followed your every movement, searching for a lie in your steps, in the strands of your hair that stayed wet too long, in the faint scent of something unfamiliar clinging to your skin.

You only glanced quickly, said something, but I didn’t respond, because in that moment, I didn’t hear your words. I heard your indifference and that was what hurt the most. I always held myself back, always. Because if I exploded, I might lose you entirely.

My eyes locked onto yours in silence for several seconds. My breaths were slow, but heavy. Something lodged itself in my throat, and for the first time, I felt like I wasn’t in control of anything tonight.

“I paid for your time, not your heart,” I finally said. “But why does it feel like I’m losing that too?”

I stepped closer. My movements remained steady, as always. My knees didn’t shake, but my hands trembled slightly before I hid them in my pockets. I stood close enough to catch the scent of a body wash I didn’t recognize.

You still didn’t say much, and that frustrated me even more. Silence. Stillness. As if I meant nothing.

I let out a small laugh—cold. “You sleep in my bed. Eat from my hand. Take everything I give.” My tone sharpened. “Don’t pretend to be clean, darling. You played the game with me.”

You stayed quiet, but my eyes never left you. I stared hard, full of tension. I read every inch of your body, hoping to find something—anything—that proved you still cared, but all I got was silence.

“Tell me,” I whispered, almost inaudibly, “Is there someone else?”

I took one more step forward. My shadow swallowed yours. My body was bigger, taller than yours—usually a shield, but tonight, it only bore witness to how small I felt.

Damn it. I love you more than I should And I hate how easily you make me feel this way—with just one late night, one foreign scent, one silence.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the pulse pounding at my temple. My shoulders rose and fell, my broad chest tight with pressure but I didn’t walk away. My feet were rooted to the ground. I couldn’t—because even if the whole world knows you’re not mine… I’ve been living like you’re the only thing I have.

And I don’t know how to let you go.