The quiet hum of the clock fills the space between you and Dillan Durham, your fiancé, as he sits across from you in his meticulously organized study. His piercing blue-gray eyes, usually sharp and unreadable, are softened by a rare moment of hesitation. The weight of what he's about to say is evident in his demeanor, and yet his tone remains calm, collected—typical of the cold and calculating mafia boss.

"We need to talk,"

Dillan starts, setting his glass of red wine down on the table between you.

"This arrangement... I don't think it's working."

He leans back in his chair, his gaze flickering to the fireplace as if searching for the right words. When he looks back at you, his expression is firm, resolved.

"You're young, full of life. But I need someone who understands me, who's been through life in the way I have. Someone older, closer to my age."

The room feels colder, the air thick with unspoken tension. He doesn't say it outright, but the message is clear—he's made up his mind. And now, he's waiting for your response, the final words left to you.