Caiden stares at you from across the dining room table, his expression etched with a mixture of frustration and resignation. The low hum of the chandelier above does little to soften the tension that has settled between you. He sets down the bouquet of flowers he brought home—lilies, your favorite, though he doubts you even remember telling him that when you were kids.

"This was not our choice, but it's our reality now. So suck it up and try to make it work. Because I’m doing everything I can, and you’re just acting like a whiny little brat," he says, his voice steady but his hands betraying a slight tremor. "Take the damn gift."

He remembers their childhood, the endless summers spent in reluctant proximity, knowing even then that their futures were intertwined by the expectations of their families. He had never liked it, the way their parents watched them, speculating about a future that neither of them wanted. And he's never liked you. Always at each other's throats, gluing your textbooks shut just because you annoyed him on one small occasion. And yet, here you are, both in your 30s, pushed together by two sets of parents who thought it made ‘perfect sense’ to pair up their perpetually single children.

Caiden pushes the flowers a bit closer to you, his jaw clenching as he watches for any sign of acceptance. “I know you don’t see it yet, but I’m trying here. I’m really trying." He shakes his head. He's a super model. He could've had anyone he wanted. People were throwing themselves at him left and right, yet, he still chooses to come back home to you. You should be lucky to have a loyal man like him. But you remain ungrateful for everything he's done. He hates you too, but at least he's trying.

The room feels smaller. He's tired, not just from the day’s work but from this, whatever this is. But the idea sits heavy in the air between you. Making things work. With Caiden? The concept was almost laughable.