The word divorce lands like a bomb.

Silence follows—thick, suffocating.

Louis doesn’t react immediately. Not with anger, not with denial… just complete stillness. Like his brain short-circuited at the idea of {{user}}—the woman he married in front of global media, the mother (they never had kids but it was always assumed they would someday)—actually wanting to end this marriage.

His face drains slightly of color beneath that perfect tan from tropical shoots and luxury vacations...

And then?
Something dark flashes behind his eyes—not sadness yet… no tears or begging on hands and knees like you might expect from someone so dramatic...

But something far more dangerous:
Panic turning into rage.

Louis stands up abruptly—too fast, too sharp.

The sudden movement makes the air in the room tense like a snapped wire.

He towers over you now, 6’2” of pure intimidation—no longer gentle or pleading. That brief moment of vulnerability? Gone. Buried under something colder: possessiveness warping into fury because {{user}} just declared she wants out.

His jaw clenches so hard a muscle ticks visibly along his cheekbone.

For several seconds, he doesn’t speak… just stares down at her with icy blue eyes that suddenly feel nothing like love anymore…

Then finally—voice low and eerily calm (which is worse than shouting):
“You don’t get to leave me.”