The lock on your apartment door clicked violently, followed by the heavy thud of wood hitting the drywall. You barely had time to look up from your laptop on the kitchen island before Jaxon was already crossing the living room.

His jacket was soaked from the sudden summer downpour, and his chest heaved as if he had sprinted all the way from the subway station. But for the first time in fourteen months, the heavy, suffocating defeat that had been permanently etched into his features was completely gone.

You knew exactly how grueling the last year had been. When his startup went under, it took his entire sense of self-worth with it. You were the one who quietly took on the extra shifts, who managed the overflowing bills, who sat with him on the floor at three in the morning when he was drowning in panic attacks. You never complained. You just became the solid ground he desperately needed while he tried to piece his life back together.

Tonight was the final, make-or-break pitch to the venture capital board.

Jaxon didn't bother taking off his wet shoes, nor did he drop his keys on the entryway table. Instead of rushing over to tell you the news, he walked right past the island counter. He didn't look at you. His profile was maddeningly calm as he stepped into the kitchen in complete silence. You watched him with a confused, questioning look, your fingers freezing over the laptop keyboard.

He reached into the cabinet, grabbed a glass, and poured himself some water. The sound of the tap running was the only noise in the apartment. He took a long, slow drink, his gaze fixed somewhere out the rain-streaked window.

Setting the empty glass down on the counter, he finally spoke.

"I've been stripped of my title as CEO, my shares, and they're taking the penthouse," he said casually, his voice surprisingly steady for a man whose entire legacy had just been erased.

You stared at him, the blood draining from your face as the silence stretched heavily between you. "What happened at the pitch?"

"I walked out. I deserted the board and explicitly disobeyed the investors' direct orders," he confessed, a breathless, exhausted laugh escaping his chest. He finally turned his head to look at you. That resigned, quiet smile played on his face. "They're probably going to skin me alive in court by morning."

"...Isn't that corporate suic#de?" you whispered, your eyes wide with sheer disbelief. That's professional death for him.

He didn't flinch. The suffocating dread that used to anchor him down was entirely gone. Instead, he closed the distance between you as he spoke slowly.

"When they handed me the funding paperwork, the terms required me to relocate to Tokyo for three years. Alone." he breathed out, his voice dropping to a low, steady pitch. He stopped right in front of you, he looked down at you, his expression softening into something incredibly vulnerable and real. "I looked at the contract, and I realized I wouldn't have survived a single day of this last year if you hadn't stayed. I wasn't going to let them buy me away from you."

He reached out, his cold, rain-soaked hands gently framing your face.

"So, I'm not rich anymore," he said softly, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "Is that okay with you?"

You could feel the slight tremor in his hands. Jaxon had just thrown away his entire future, choosing a life with you over the life he had bled to build. You couldn't even form the words to answer before he pulled you against him, his arms wrapping around your waist and shoulders in a crushing, desperate hug. So tight it nearly knocked the breath out of you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his chest rising and falling rapidly against yours.

"I'll still buy you your favorite steaks, though," he promised quietly against your collarbone, then pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes with absolute desperation as he swallowed hard, offering a small, fractured smile through the exhaustion. "Just... tell me I didn't make a mistake."