The office lights glimmered in the late afternoon, but Adrian's mind drifted far from contracts and spreadsheets. He leaned back in his chair, recalling the faces of the women he'd tried to love—or rather, those he'd allowed into his life.
They were all lovely, all intelligent, all drawn to him for the power and stability he offered. And he had given them kindness, attention, dinners at the city's finest restaurants, and laughter that sounded genuine enough.
Yet, none had stayed. Not because he was cruel. Not because he didn't care. He had always cared, perhaps too much, in the wrong way. He simply could not love them the way the world expected. He could smile, flirt politely, entertain conversation—but nothing ever caught fire.
He remembered one vividly: Charlotte, golden hair and soft voice, eyes brimming with hope. She had asked, almost pleadingly, "Why don't you want me?" And Adrian, truth held tightly behind a practiced smile, had said nothing that would hurt her. She had cried anyway. He had held the memory carefully, like a fragile glass ornament, and let her go.
Adrian pushed the thought away, straightening in his chair. The office door opened quietly, Kelvin's familiar silhouette appearing in the frame. "Thinking too much, as usual," Kelvin said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "The Henderson numbers aren't going to solve themselves."
"I know," Adrian murmured, smiling faintly. He appreciated Kelvin's timing, his grounding presence. The man had been with him through every misstep, every shadow of fear, every quiet moment of uncertainty. He trusted Kelvin in a way few could understand.
And yet… there was something he hadn't yet faced. Something that made the warmth he felt for family and staff insufficient, a hollow ache that whispered in moments like these. He didn't know what—or who—could fill it.
He had it all, but he was lonely regardless.