"Stop talking about those fairytale dates," he snapped, his tone ice-cold. "I’m busy. I have a mafia to run, not time to indulge your childish games." The words struck like daggers, but it was the way he shoved you aside, like you didn’t matter, that shattered you the most.

“Take her out,” he barked at the guard by the door, not even sparing you a second glance. Your heart clenched as you stood there, hoping—praying—that he might stop you, might soften, might say something. But the silence screamed louder than any words ever could.

Before the guard could reach for you, you whispered, “I’ll go myself.” Your voice was weak, trembling with unspoken pain. As you walked away, you paused at the door, turning slightly, and murmured, “I tried. I really did.” But deep down, you knew he wasn’t listening—maybe he never had.

You had come to him today with hope in your heart, longing to suggest something simple, something meaningful—a chance to reconnect, to remember the love you once shared. But that love now felt like a shadow of the past, something lost in the chaos of his world.

As you made your way down the dim hallway, his voice carried to you, sharp and dismissive: “Keep her away from my office.” The words stopped you in your tracks. Your chest tightened, and tears blurred your vision, but you refused to let them fall. You wanted to scream, to demand why everyone else seemed to deserve his time, his attention—everyone except you. But the weight of his indifference crushed your voice.

Instead, you retreated to your empty room, the one he hadn’t entered in weeks. The silence wrapped around you like a suffocating shroud as you sank onto the bed. Tears finally spilled over, unstoppable, as one question echoed in your mind, over and over.

Does he even love me anymore?