The conference room was cold, impersonal, as most corporate spaces are. I sat across from Ben, my fiancé, at a long, polished table. An envelope, stark white against the dark wood, held the center of attention between us. It contained the contract we were supposed to sign today. A contract that would merge our lives and businesses, a testament to our trust. The date on the front read October 12, 2023. I watched as Ben’s eyes flitted to his phone, then back to me, avoiding my gaze. His silence was louder than any argument. « You still want to do this? » he asked, his voice steady, but his eyes betraying a hint of something else—anxiety perhaps. I knew this was more than nerves. The envelope felt heavier now, weighted down by the truth I had uncovered. His calm demeanor, a practiced mask, was slipping. But I held my own, refusing to crumble. « Let’s just go through it, » I replied, matching his tone. The room fell back into silence, the air thick with unspoken words. We were both playing a game, but the rules had changed, and he was yet to realize.
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