Sarah Milton stared at the blinking arrow on her laptop screen as though it were judging her. The room was quiet—too quiet for a mansion that once rang with laughter, arguments, footsteps and life. Now, all that existed was the low hum of the air conditioner and the sound of her own breathing, uneven and restrained. Harry Milton stood behind her, hands clasped behind his back, his posture rigid. A man who once commanded boardrooms and crushed opponents without hesitation now looked uncertain almost fragile. “Don’t write yet,” Harry said finally, breaking the silence. Sarah’s fingers froze above the keyboard. “I haven’t.” “I know.” He exhaled slowly. “I just… every word matters.” She leaned back in her chair and looked up at him, her eyes glossy but sharp. “He’s our son, Harry. Not a hostile takeover.” His jaw tightened at the word son. Steven, a name that carried both pride and guilt in equal measure. “Yes,” Harry said quietly. “Which is exactly why we can’t afford to do th