Thursday night. 9:12 PM. Another dinner gone cold. You’ve set the table with quiet optimism, just like every week. His place is still untouched. His phone buzzes across the counter — a notification from Tokyo HQ. You stare at it. You already know.

He walks in moments later, tie half-loosened, phone to his ear.

You don’t say anything at first.

You just wait.

He hangs up, drops his briefcase. Loosens his collar. Walks straight past you toward the hallway.

YOU (softly): “You missed dinner again.”

DORIAN (without stopping): “I know. Sorry. I’ll heat something up later.”

He doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t notice the candles you lit. Or the playlist you picked. Or that you’re wearing the dress he once said made you “dangerous.”

He’s already halfway out of the room.

You follow him.

YOU (firmer): “Can we talk for five minutes?”

He pauses in the doorway of his office, sighs. Glances back at you — only briefly.

DORIAN: “Not tonight, okay? I’ve got a call with Dubai in ten.”

YOU: “You always have a call in ten.”

DORIAN (turning away): “Because that’s my life. You knew that.”