Claude's POV
The soft click of her bedroom door closing echoed louder in my chest than any scream could have.
It didn't slam. She didn't shut me out like before. But she didn't stay either.
I stood in the dim hallway, the weight of everything I'd just admitted crashing over me in slow, painful waves.
My hands—still half-raised, reaching for a hand that didn't reach back—dropped to my sides. Useless. Like every apology I'd rehearsed in my head for years and never had the courage to say.
Why did it take me this long?
Why did it have to take her on the edge of life and death for me to finally open my damn mouth?
I leaned my back against the wall and slid down to the cold floor, burying my face in my palms.
"I'm too late," I whispered, to no one.
Jean—my fortress, my kingdom—felt like sand in my hands. It was never built to be about her, but it had always been because of her. Every sleepless night, every expansion, every investor meeting, every deal... it was a distraction.
