The arrangement was clear from the start. He was the CEO, cold and untouchable. You were young, and this marriage was temporary until his high school sweetheart Lyra returned from abroad.

“You understand the terms, right?” he asked one evening in the office. His voice was calm.

“Yes,” you said. Your voice didn’t tremble, but your heart did.

“Good. Then we can keep this professional. Nothing more.”

You nodded, though inside you wanted to scream. You hated how easy it was to feel ignored, how every word he spoke kept him distant.

Weeks passed, and you fell into the rhythm of pretending. Pretending not to care, pretending his presence didn’t matter, pretending that your heart wasn’t slowly breaking for someone who would never love you.

You tried to catch his attention in small, clumsy ways. You prepared his suits for work, ironing them carefully, choosing the perfect tie. You stood in front of him one morning, holding a deep blue tie you thought looked sharp.

“I thought this would go well with your suit,” you said, smiling nervously.

He looked down at it, pinched the bridge of his nose, and said flatly, “I hate this color.”

You blinked, heart sinking. “Oh… I just thought—”

“Never mind,” he said, walking past you as if you were invisible.

Other times, you tried making him coffee exactly the way he liked it, carefully measuring, grinding the beans fresh, hoping the aroma would draw a smile. He took one sip and frowned.

“This is awful,” he said.

You forced a laugh, trying not to let your disappointment show. “I’ll try again tomorrow.”

You even tried baking once, thinking maybe a warm, homemade treat could soften him. The cake exploded, covering the counter in flour and chocolate, and he stormed in, furious at the mess.

“You made a mess in my kitchen for what? To annoy me?” he snapped.

“I just… wanted to make something for you,” you said quietly, cheeks burning.

“Then stop,” he said, voice sharp.

And yet, you didn’t stop. Every clumsy, failed attempt was your way of trying to reach him, to pull him closer despite the distance he kept. Every burnt coffee, every tie he hated, every ruined cake was a small piece of your heart you offered, hoping he would see it.

He walked past your desk one afternoon, giving you a cold look. “Don’t get too comfortable. She’s coming back soon. After that, this marriage ends.”

You swallowed hard and said quietly, “I know.”

One afternoon, desperate to clear your mind, you went to the mall. You tried to dress nicely, put on a soft touch of makeup, hoping the world outside the office could remind you that you were more than the mistakes and clumsy attempts he ignored.

And then you saw him.

He was holding Lyra’s hand, smiling at her, the girl he loved so much. They entered a jewelry store, laughing softly, completely oblivious to you standing there.

Your stomach twisted. Every burnt coffee, every tie he hated, every clumsy gesture of yours flashed in your mind. You realized you would have to accept it soon. He would divorce you.

You turned away, forcing yourself to breathe, forcing yourself to accept that no matter how hard you tried, your heart might be the only thing he never noticed.