Two weeks had passed since the night Zeke had gone out with Logan, and the insomnia had only gotten worse. He barely slept three or four hours a night—usually just before dawn—and the exhaustion was beginning to show.
Now, sitting at the head of the long black marble table in his executive office, Zeke rubbed his temple as he flipped through the proposal in front of him. His eyes burned from lack of sleep, and every word seemed to irritate him more than the last.
"This budget is ridiculous," he snapped, slamming the folder shut. The manager who had brought the proposal flinched. "Did you think I wouldn't read it? Or do you actually believe this kind of inflated nonsense would pass under my nose?"
"I'm—I'm sorry, Mr. Salvador," the manager stammered.
"Get out," Zeke growled. "Come back when you know what you're doing."
The door clicked shut behind the retreating employee. It wasn't the first outburst of the day. By noon, three more people—two managers and one junior executive—had left his office looking pale, frazzled, and borderline humiliated. The entire floor was on edge.
Andrew, his long-time personal assistant, watched the revolving door of verbal casualties with a resigned expression. He stood by his desk outside Zeke's office, arms crossed, shaking his head slightly.
From the corner, Linda—the front-desk secretary—peeked toward him, whispering, "Is he… okay?"
Andrew turned to her with a sharp look. "Don't ask questions you're not ready to hear answers to."
Linda blinked. "It's just… everyone who goes in comes out looking like they've been hit by a truck."
"Well, maybe next time they'll remember to double-check their numbers before walking into his office."
"Come on, Andrew. Seriously. Is he going through something?"
Andrew sighed. "Linda, do yourself a favor—stop speculating. The boss doesn't need a rumor mill. If he hears you gossiping, you'll be lucky to walk out with a job."
Linda bit her lower lip and nodded, retreating to her desk. Andrew glanced at the closed office door, jaw tightening. He'd worked for Zeke long enough to recognize the signs—Zeke wasn't just sleep-deprived. He was unraveling, quietly and dangerously.
And no one dared ask him why.
The clock hit 4 PM, and the tension in the office hadn't let up. Andrew stood by the coffee machine, watching another employee exit Zeke's office with slumped shoulders and a deep sigh.
He glanced at the door for a moment, then grabbed two mugs of black coffee. With one deep breath, he walked in.
Zeke sat behind his desk, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, the harsh glow of the monitor reflecting on his tired face. His tie was loosened, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone—an unusual sight for someone as composed as Ezekiel Theodore Salvador.
"I brought coffee," Andrew said casually, setting one of the mugs on the desk.
Zeke didn't even look up. "If it's another proposal, I'm going to fire someone."
"It's just coffee, boss."
Zeke let out a low sigh and leaned back in his chair, finally taking the mug.
Andrew remained standing, studying his friend for a second. Not just his boss—his old college friend.
They met years ago at one of the most prestigious universities in the country. Andrew, a scholarship student from a middle-class family, had stood out for his brilliance and relentless work ethic. Unlike most students there, who came from money and legacy, Andrew had carved his place through sheer talent. Zeke had noticed that. And over time, their unlikely friendship grew—Zeke, the heir to a corporate empire, and Andrew, the no-nonsense genius who didn't care about status.
After graduation, when Zeke took over Empire Salvador, he didn't hesitate to ask Andrew to be his personal assistant. Not because he needed one—he could have hired anyone—but because he trusted him.
"You haven't been sleeping," Andrew said now, his voice calm but direct.
Zeke gave him a side glance. "I'm managing."
"No, you're not. You've been snapping at everyone. Barely eating. And I saw you fall asleep at your desk yesterday."
Zeke stayed quiet.
Andrew pressed on. "With all due respect… maybe it's time you saw a doctor. An actual specialist. This isn't sustainable."
Zeke's jaw clenched. "It's not your problem."
Andrew set his own coffee on the desk and leaned forward slightly. "It is when your decisions affect an entire company. And when I'm watching my friend burn out right in front of me."
Zeke's eyes flicked to him, more in surprise than anger.
"I haven't slept properly since the divorce," Zeke admitted, finally. "The bed feels too quiet."
Andrew nodded slowly. "That makes sense."
There was a long pause, the tension between boss and friend momentarily giving way to something more human.
Zeke let out a small, dry laugh. "Since when do CEOs take advice from their assistants?"
Andrew smirked. "Since their assistants are the only ones brave enough to give it. And the only ones who knew them back when they used to pull all-nighters for finals and eat instant noodles for breakfast."
That made Zeke crack a tired smile. A real one.
"I'll think about it."
"Good," Andrew said, standing up straight. "And if you want me to find a doctor who won't leak to the press, I know a guy."
***
Two days later, Zeke finally gave Andrew the green light.
It was Friday evening, and the city outside his apartment was starting to light up, alive with weekend energy. But inside his penthouse, all was dim and quiet. Zeke had just returned home—tie undone, suit jacket slung over the arm of the couch—when the intercom buzzed.
He walked over and pressed the button.
"Yes?"
"It's Dr. Bennett," a calm voice replied. "We have an appointment."
Zeke paused for a moment, then buzzed him in.
A few minutes later, he opened the door to a man in his early fifties—clean-cut, dressed in a dark blazer over a gray sweater. His presence wasn't clinical or formal. It was grounded. Steady. Like a tree rooted deep.
"Mr. Salvador," Dr. Bennett said with a small nod.
"Come in." Zeke stepped aside.
They settled into the living room. Zeke didn't bother offering coffee or drinks. He sat on the couch, one arm resting over the backrest, legs spread in a relaxed—but guarded—stance. Dr. Bennett chose the single chair across from him and pulled out a small notepad, though he didn't open it just yet.
"I've never done this," Zeke said, breaking the silence.
"That's okay. We can keep it simple," Dr. Bennett replied. "You talk, I listen. That's the foundation."
Zeke exhaled slowly. "Andrew said you're good at what you do."
"He said you're very difficult to get through," the doctor replied, not unkindly.
A short smirk tugged at the corner of Zeke's mouth. "He's not wrong."
There was a moment of stillness, before Dr. Bennett asked, "What made you finally agree to talk?"
Zeke leaned back and looked at the ceiling for a moment. "Couldn't sleep. Haven't slept properly in weeks. And today, I yelled at three managers and a poor intern who didn't deserve it. I'm just... angry. All the time. And tired."
Dr. Bennett gave a single, slow nod. Sat comfortably in the armchair across from Zeke, his demeanor calm, almost casual, but his eyes sharp and attentive.
Before he began, he set his pen down. "Mind if I call you Ezekiel?" he asked. "It feels a little more grounded. Formal, but familiar. Sometimes it helps."
Zeke leaned back on the sofa, expression unreadable. "You can call me that if it helps you," he said. "Doesn't really matter to me."
Dr. Bennett gave a small smile. "Alright, Ezekiel it is."
A moment of quiet passed before the doctor spoke again, voice measured. "You've been having trouble sleeping. You mentioned it's been ongoing for a few weeks."
"Almost a month," Zeke muttered, rubbing his temple. "If I'm lucky, I get three, maybe four hours. And only if I crash sometime near dawn."
Dr. Bennett nodded, making a brief note. "When did that start?"
Zeke was quiet for a moment, jaw tightening.
"A few weeks ago. Around the time my wife and I finalized our divorce."
"And was it a difficult separation?"
Zeke scoffed faintly. "It wasn't a love story. More like... a contract."
Dr. Bennett studied him quietly. "But it still left a mark."
Zeke's voice dropped. "Maybe I just got used to her being there."
Dr. Bennett didn't rush to respond. He just sat with the words for a moment.
"Getting used to someone... is still a kind of attachment, Ezekiel."
That made Zeke's throat tighten unexpectedly. He looked away, jaw clenched.
"Let's just say I'm not here to get emotional," he muttered.
"That's alright," Dr. Bennett said with a soft smile. "You don't have to be emotional to be honest."
Zeke nodded slowly, eyes still on the skyline.
For the first time in weeks, the silence didn't feel suffocating.
"Tell me something. In your marriage… what did you expect?"
Zeke's jaw tensed. "I didn't expect anything."
"That's rarely true."
Zeke didn't respond immediately. A quiet hung between them, thick and thoughtful. Finally, he exhaled. "Maybe… peace. Predictability. No chaos."
"And did you get that?"
"For a time," Zeke answered, voice low. "There were rules. Boundaries. Everything had its place."
"But something shifted?" Dr. Bennett prompted gently.
Zeke's eyes flicked toward the window, drawn to the distant blur of traffic lights and movement below. The city felt far away, even though it was just outside.
"She left," he said flatly.
"Because she broke the rules?"
Zeke shook his head. "Because she followed them. That's the irony."
"Do you think about her?" Dr. Bennet asked.
Zeke's lips pressed into a tight line. "She was part of the routine," he said. "We weren't close—not in the way people assume. But she was… there. Predictable. Quiet. The kind of presence you don't notice until it's missing."
Dr. Bennett nodded slowly. "Sometimes we underestimate how deeply routines root themselves in us. It's not always about love or passion. Sometimes, it's about rhythm. Familiarity."
Zeke scoffed softly. "It wasn't supposed to be anything emotional. That was the deal."
"And now?"
Zeke hesitated, then let out a tired breath. "Now I can't sleep. I look at the couch and still expect to see her reading. I wake up and forget she's not in the kitchen."
"Sounds like your body adjusted faster than your mind. Do you miss her?"
There was a long pause.
"I miss the way she made the silence less heavy."
Dr. Bennett leaned back, noting the honesty in his patient's voice.
"Then maybe," he said gently, "you weren't looking for control. Maybe what you really wanted was connection, even if you didn't know how to ask for it."
Zeke didn't answer. But something in his posture eased, just slightly—as if the weight on his chest had shifted, even if just by a fraction.