"I swear I won't miss it," Carlos repeated, his tone clipped as he tried to pacify his pregnant wife. His focus, however, remained elsewhere—his phone screen glowing in the dimly lit hallway.

With a weary sigh, he pressed a distracted kiss to her cheek before walking straight to the elevator and leaving the penthouse to his company's building. Another deal. Another problem. Another reason to push everything else aside.

Carlos Rey—the hot, famous, and notoriously cold CEO—was a man consumed by his work. Hours blurred into each other as he sat at his desk, stress mounting over yet another crisis. Time slipped through his fingers unnoticed, his mind preoccupied with negotiations, numbers, and deadlines.

When he finally returned to the penthouse, it was nearly 3 AM. His suit jacket hung loosely over his broad shoulders, his tie undone, his usually sharp features dull with exhaustion. He didn’t pause. Didn’t check the time. Didn’t even glance toward the bedroom. Instead, he trudged straight to his office, as if drawn by habit.

Meanwhile, you sat in your massive bedroom, your fingers idly tracing the silk sheets beneath you. The clock on the wall mocked you with its relentless ticking. You had waited—four long hours, hoping, wishing he would remember.

But he hadn’t. Again.