While Anna was basking in the success of her film—wrapped in applause, bathed in golden light, surrounded by people who finally saw her worth—inside the Bennett mansion, Hugo was sinking into the weight of his own failure.
The house felt unnaturally still.
The same walls that once carried the echo of business meetings, controlled conversations, and calculated decisions now held only silence. The chandeliers glowed dimly above polished floors, but the light felt cold, almost distant.
Hugo sat alone in his study.
Files were spread across his desk—declining numbers, withdrawn partnerships, messages marked urgent. He had tried to review them, tried to think like he always did: strategically, coldly, ahead of the curve.
But tonight, his mind refused to cooperate.
Everything had fallen apart.
And no matter how much he tried to gather himself, to stand mentally where he once stood so firmly, he couldn't.
For the first time in years, he wasn't thinking about damage control.
