"Thank you," I say, the words feeling stiff and formal.
She hovers in the doorway, and I realize she's waiting for something. Dismissal? Permission to speak? I don't know the protocol for normal human interaction anymore.
"Was there something else?" I ask, trying to soften my tone and failing.
"Oh, no, sir. I just—" She clutches her cleaning supplies a little tighter. "I noticed you've been working very hard lately. I hope you're taking care of yourself."
The concern in her voice is genuine, and it catches me off guard. When was the last time someone asked if I was taking care of myself? Bjorn monitors my schedule, my driver knows my routes, my trainer tracks my workouts. But no one asks if I'm okay.
"I'm fine," I say automatically. "Thank you for your concern."
She nods, but doesn't leave. "My granddaughter—she's about your age, maybe a bit younger. Works herself to the bone at her job. I'm always telling her, you have to make time for the people who matter. Otherwise, what's it all for?"
I don't know how to respond to that. The silence stretches awkwardly.
"She's in fashion, actually," Maria continues, apparently taking my silence as permission. "Always sketching, always busy. Reminds me a bit of you, working all the time."
Fashion. Her granddaughter is Eve's age and works in fashion.
My chest tightens with something I don't want to examine. Is this what normal people do? Talk about their families? Share these small pieces of their lives?
"That's... nice," I manage, the word coming out stilted.
Maria smiles, warm and genuine. "She is. I'm very proud of her. Do you have family, Mr. Hale? People who worry about you?"
The question hits like a physical blow. I think of my parents, dead in a murder-suicide, I didn't mourn. I think of Alex—dead because of me. I think of the Sinclair family, who wanted me dead, too.
"No," I say quietly. "No family."
Her expression shifts to sympathy, and I hate it. I don't want pity. Don't deserve it.
"Well," she says gently, "everyone needs someone. I hope you find that, Mr. Hale. You seem like a good man who could use some happiness."
She leaves before I can respond, and I'm left sitting in my office, staring at the door she closed behind her.
A good man who could use some happiness.
The words echo in my head, mocking. I'm not a good man. Good men don't stalk women. Don't orchestrate the destruction of their lives. Don't sit in dark rooms watching them sleep.
But the longing her words triggered—that's real. This vast, empty penthouse. These silent meals. These nights where the only human connection I have is through cameras and screens.
I'm so fucking lonely.
The realization crashes over me with unexpected force. For years, I've told myself the isolation was necessary. That I couldn't risk letting anyone close, couldn't afford the vulnerability of a real connection.
But Maria's simple kindness—her genuine concern for a man she barely knows—has cracked something open inside me.
I pull out my phone and open my banking app. Maria's salary is already generous, but I add a bonus. Twenty thousand dollars. Enough to surprise her, help her granddaughter, show some kind of gratitude, I don't know how to express in words.
My finger hovers over the confirm button.
Why am I doing this? She was just being polite. This is excessive. She'll think I'm insane.
But I hit confirm anyway.
Because maybe, just for a moment, I want to be the kind of man who does good things. Who responds to kindness with kindness. Who isn't completely broken.
Even if I know it's a lie.
