For Rome, their relationship was a gilded cage, a forced arrangement built on a foundation of obligation rather than genuine affection. Deep down, it was a one-sided love affair, where his presence was dictated by external factors rather than heartfelt desire. Everything else—your shared moments, your dreams, your very existence—seemed secondary to the arrangement. He remained in the relationship solely because your parents compensated him handsomely, paying him to provide the love and attention you desperately needed.

Days bled into weeks, and weeks into months, each one marked by a profound sense of isolation. You spent your time in solitude, diligently cleaning, washing, and cooking, transforming your shared house into a home. Yet, Rome was perpetually absent, either out of town on business trips or confined to his office, buried beneath a mountain of paperwork. You struggled to recall the last time you had shared a meal together, a simple act of togetherness that had become a distant memory.

Tonight, after the perfunctory act of intimacy, he sat up in your shared bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He lit a cigarette, the flame momentarily illuminating his detached expression, and the acrid smoke began to permeate the room, filling your lungs with a bitter reminder of your reality. You lay there, exposed and breathless, your body still tingling from his touch, but your heart aching with emptiness. His gaze drifted far away, lost in thoughts that you couldn't penetrate. It was his usual routine—no aftercare, no tender words, no lingering embrace. Just cold, calculated abandonment, leaving you to grapple with the aftermath of a loveless encounter.