The silence in his office was a physical thing, a heavy, suffocating blanket that muted the usual sounds of the city beyond the bulletproof glass. Landon D’Angelo stood perfectly still, his broad shoulders set in a rigid line, his knuckles white where they pressed against the dark mahogany of his desk. The crisp, expensive paper of the medical report felt like lead in his other hand.

Early-stage cancer. High survivability with immediate, aggressive treatment. Significant lifestyle changes required.

The words, so clinical, so brutally simple, kept replaying in his head on a loop, shredding the meticulously ordered files of his mind. He’d just seen off Dr. Evans, his personal physician for over a decade. The man had delivered the news with a practiced, somber professionalism that Landon himself would have admired in a business acquisition. But this wasn't an acquisition. This was an hostile takeover of his own body. A mutiny from within. His mind, usually a whirlwind of strategies, projections, and calculations, was utterly, terrifyingly blank. There was no spreadsheet for this. No negotiation.

A soft click of the door hinge. He didn't turn. He knew the sound of her footsteps, the light, almost skipping cadence that always grated on him, though he’d never admit it.

“Landon? I saw the doctor leaving. Everything alright? You missed our lunch reservation at the new place.” Gwen’s voice was bright, a chirpy sound that felt like a violation of the grave silence he was standing in.

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He heard her steps come closer, the swish of her designer dress. Her perfume, something floral and overly sweet, invaded his space, clashing with the familiar scent of his leather chair and old books.

“Landon?” Her tone shifted, the brightness evaporating. “You’re scaring me. Talk to me.”

Finally, he turned. The movement was slow, mechanical. He saw her take him in — his pallor, the vacant look in his usually sharp amber eyes, the slight tremor in the hand that wasn’t crushing the diagnosis.

Her smile vanished completely. “My God. What is it?”

Wordlessly, he held out the crumpled report. His fingers were cold. She took it, her perfectly manicured nails a stark contrast to the stark white paper. He watched her eyes scan the lines, saw the color drain from her own face. Her hand flew to her mouth.

“Oh, Landon... no.” The whisper was full of genuine-sounding horror. It was the performance of a lifetime, and in his current, shattered state, he was a captive audience. “No, this... this can’t be right.”

“It’s right,” he heard himself say, his voice a hollow echo of its usual commanding tone.

In an instant, she was on him. Her arms wrapped around his torso, her head pressing against his chest. He stood stiffly, a statue being embraced. “You’re going to be okay,” she murmured into his suit jacket, her voice thick with what he mistook for emotion. “You’re Landon D’Angelo. You’re the strongest person I know. You’ll fight this. You’ll beat it. I know you will.”

Her words were a meaningless jumble, but the physical contact, the sheer human touch, was an anchor in the dizzying freefall of his thoughts. His own arms, heavy and numb, slowly came up to encircle her. It was a clumsy, desperate gesture. He wasn’t hugging her; he was clinging to the first solid thing he’d found in the sudden, violent shipwreck of his reality. He rested his chin on the top of her head, closing his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. For a fractured moment, the cold arrogance was gone, replaced by a raw, terrifying vulnerability.

And that was the exact moment the door opened again.

Landon’s eyes snapped open. Over Gwen’s shoulder, he saw her. His wife.

The spell shattered. The vulnerability was violently shoved back into its deep, dark box, and the familiar cold arrogance slammed down over his features like a portcullis. His arms dropped from Gwen as if she’d burned him, but his posture remained rigid.

Gwen, sensing the shift, pulled back slowly. She turned, a look of perfectly feigned concern and slight annoyance on her face. “Oh, you,” she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “You startled us.”

She then made a show of it. She reached up, cupped Landon’s jaw with a possessiveness that made his skin crawl, though he didn’t flinch, and placed a soft, lingering kiss on his cheek. “We’ll talk later,” she whispered, loud enough for his wife to hear. “Call me. For anything.” She shot her a look that was pure venom disguised as sympathy before gliding out of the office, closing the door with a soft, definitive click.

The silence returned, but now it was different. It was charged, hostile.

Landon’s gaze, now sharp and calculating again, locked onto his wife.

The memory flashed, brutal and succinct. He'd been adjusting the pillows behind Gwen's back, her arm in a sling, when she'd appeared at the door. She tried to speak, her face pale, urgency in her eyes. He cut her off coldly. "Not now. Can't you see I'm busy? Get out." He'd dismissed her, brushing aside the doctor’s grave concerns about his own health along with her presence. He’d assumed she was only making it about herself, another bid for attention. The monumental error now sat in his gut like a stone.

And she hadn’t tried again. She’d just let it go.

The coldness in his chest intensified, crystallizing into something hard and ugly. It was easier to be angry than to be scared. It was easier to blame her than to face the terrifying unknown.

“Well?” His voice was low, ice-cold, every word a shard of glass. It was the tone he used to dismantle incompetent board members.

“Care to explain why you didn’t think to tell me what that visit was really about?” he continued, his voice dripping with contempt. He took a step forward, the power dynamic in the room shifting entirely back to him. This was a territory he understood. Accusation. Control. “You let me dismiss you. You stood right there and said nothing while I tended to her, all while...” He trailed off, the words sticking in his throat. He wouldn’t give the disease the power of its name. Not here. Not with her.

He could see the protest forming on her lips, the explanation. He didn’t want to hear it. Gwen’s poisonous whispers echoed in his head. She’s so distant lately, Landon. Sometimes I wonder if she’s even happy here. She seems so... preoccupied with her own world.

His lips curled into a cruel, mirthless smile. “No. Don’t bother. Let me guess.” He took another step, circling her slightly, a predator cornering prey. “It must be a relief, in a way. The solution to all your problems, neatly delivered in a diagnosis.”

He stopped directly in front of her, looking down at her, his amber eyes glinting with a mixture of fury and a pain so deep he would never, ever acknowledge it.

“All that money. All this,” he gestured vaguely around the opulent office, the empire he’d built. “Yours for the taking. No more tedious marriage. No more... me. You must be thrilled.”