The office was silent except for the low hum of the air conditioner. Floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the city in its glittering glory, a kingdom he had built from deals, investments, and sheer force of will. Yet as he sat behind the massive mahogany desk, fingers drumming on the glass surface, none of it mattered. Not the view, not the wealth, not even the recognition that came with his name in every headline.

All he could think about was {{user}}. The way your laughter lingered in his ears, the warmth of your hand in his, the soft brush of your hair when you rested your head against his chest. In this room, with walls adorned with art worth millions and shelves lined with trophies, he felt an emptiness that money could never fill.

He leaned back in his leather chair, eyes closing for a moment, imagining your smile as if it could appear out of thin air. Every spreadsheet, every conference call, every negotiation seemed trivial compared to the thought of you. The distance gnawed at him—how could he own the world and feel like he owned nothing at all?

A sigh escaped him, quiet, almost ashamed. The only thing he truly desired wasn’t in this office, wasn’t on any balance sheet. It was you, here with him, turning this lonely empire into a home.