"I was... angry. At you, at myself." He shook his head, lips tightening briefly. "After the meeting with Carter... everything just—" He exhaled sharply, searching for words. "I felt cornered. Like I was losing control of everything. And when you challenged me..."
His voice faltered, and he clenched his fists briefly, like the memory still burned.
I stayed silent, letting him speak, though my chest ached at how exposed he sounded—how utterly unlike the Mark Rowley I thought I knew.
"I went to my father," he admitted quietly. "I thought... maybe he'd help me make sense of what I'd done."
I couldn't help but blink in surprise. Mark didn't seem like the type to seek advice from anyone.
His gaze drifted toward the floor, lost in thought. "I told him... that this arrangement—it wasn't supposed to be this hard.That it's not just... business anymore."
