“Mr. Dhark, we need to discuss the company’s long-term succession plan.” One of the board members began.

I immediately frowned, not bothering to look up from the document lying on the table in front of me. I didn’t need to, because I knew exactly where this conversation was going.

Another board member cleared his throat. “Public image matters, Mr. Dhark. You’re thirty-six and investors value stability. An heir would reassure them.”

Lifting my gaze slowly, I tried to remain calm and composed. “My marriage and my family will not be discussed by this board.”

The board members exchanged knowing glances.

“With due respect, Mr. Dhark,” another board member added carefully. “It’s been five years since your marriage to Claire Moreau… yet she has not conceived. I believe it is time to evaluate the reason.”

The word ‘evaluate’ hit me like a slap. As if Claire was a failing business asset that needed evaluation or replacement.

“If the issue is from your wife,” He continued. “Of course there are other options.”

The sentence made my heart beat louder than usual. Other options. Eva.

It felt like something restless stirred inside me. She was a memory that simply refused to go away.

I stood abruptly, the legs of my chair scraping sharply against the polished floor, making several board members flinch.

“Meeting’s over.” I declared.

“Mr Dhark—-“

“It’s over.” I repeated. My tone was harsh and unquestionable. There was no room for argument.

I walked out of the conference room before my temper exploded, but their words followed me like an echo.

An heir, stability, public image.

Even the elevator felt suffocating on the way down.

I hated when people cornered me about things I couldn’t fix, things I didn’t know how to approach without destroying the person involved. Claire.

The last thing I wanted was for her to get trapped by the world’s expectations. But that was exactly what was happening.

And somewhere at the back of my mind, a face lingered.

A face I had tried so hard to forget —Eva. Her green eyes, her teasing smile, her easy laughter.

A ghost I had buried who refused to stay dead.

The next morning, I woke up to sunlight spilling across the room.

Claire sat at the edge of the bed, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, staring at nothing.

I realized she had not slept after our argument last night and immediately felt pity for her. She had seen the photos, confronted me and I hadn’t given her even the slightest reassurance.

For a moment, I remembered a different version of her.

I remembered the woman who would bring me tea when I worked late, and I would kiss her forehead in silent appreciation.

I had been gentler then. Before I realized how dangerous my emotions were. So I hardened again.

“Claire.” I called, sitting up slowly.

She wiped her cheeks quickly, pretending she hadn’t been crying, then turned to me with a faint smile.

“Good morning.” Her voice trembled. Her eyes were red and swollen. “We should go to the hospital today, just like you said.”

The board had pushed my hand. After the meeting, I’d instructed my secretary to schedule an appointment with a fertility doctor… and call Claire to inform her.

Perhaps I should have called her myself.

“Are you sure you’re up for it?” I asked, sincerely concerned.

Claire nodded. “I want to know what’s wrong with me.” Her voice was so small, I barely heard her.

Something twisted inside me. I hated it when she spoke like everything was her fault.

There were a lot of things I wanted to tell her—things I should have said last night, instead of shutting down.

I wanted to tell her nothing was wrong with her. That the photos meant less than she feared. That I was sorry for being an ass.

But when I opened my mouth, nothing came out.

The hospital smelled like disinfectant and lavender, a scent I knew too well.

A scent that dragged memories I had buried, back to the surface: my mother’s failing body, the machines beeping around her and her fragile hand in mine.

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