The next morning, Elena was gone.
Her side of the closet empty. Her sketchbooks missing. Only a short note left on the marble counter:
Thank you for teaching me that love is a weakness. I won't make the same mistake again.
Alexander crumpled the note in his fist. Rage and emptiness tore through him in equal measure.
He spent the day in meetings, snapping at everyone, breaking contracts, and driving the company harder than ever. But no victory mattered.
At night, in the silence of the penthouse, he poured himself another drink and whispered to the empty room:
"Elena…"