Victory was louder on paper than it was in my chest.
The motion had failed. The board had fractured. Marcus had retreated temporarily. Every metric said I had won.
And yet, standing alone in my office long after everyone else had gone home, I felt hollowed out in a way I didn't recognize.
Power had always energized me. Conflict sharpened me. I thrived in pressure the way other men drowned in it.
But this
This had taken something different.
The glass reflected my image back at me: tailored suit, straight spine, controlled expression. The same man the world believed in.
I barely recognized him.
I didn't go home immediately.
Instead, I poured a drink and sat in the dark, watching the city pulse below. Messages buzzed on my phone congratulations, strategic reassurances, thinly veiled warnings.
I ignored them all.
The only message that mattered came last.
Elias: I'm here.
That was it.
No questions. No expectations.
Just presence.
I left then.
Elias was in the bedroom when I arrived, sitting on the edge of the bed, jacket folded neatly beside him as if he'd been waiting without pacing. He looked up when I entered, eyes scanning my face with quiet precision.
"You won," he said.
"Yes."
He stood, closing the distance between us. "But you don't feel like it."
I didn't bother pretending. "No."
He reached up and loosened my tie, slow and deliberate, fingers brushing my collarbone. The gesture wasn't about seduction. It was care.
"Come sit," he said softly.
We sat side by side on the bed, close enough that our knees touched. He leaned into me, head resting against my shoulder, the weight of him grounding.
"They didn't just attack your authority," he said quietly. "They tried to rewrite you."
"Yes."
"And you didn't let them."
"No."
"Then why does it hurt like this?"
I closed my eyes.
"Because for the first time," I said, "I didn't choose power first. And part of me is still learning how to live with that."
He shifted slightly, turning to face me. "You chose yourself."
"I chose us," I corrected.
His lips curved faintly. "That too."
We were quiet for a while.
The city hummed outside, distant and indifferent. Inside, the silence felt heavier but not empty.
"I keep thinking about the moment," Elias said. "When you walked into that room with me beside you."
I opened my eyes. "What about it?"
"I realized then that they could never really touch you," he said. "Not the way they wanted to."
"And why is that?"
"Because you weren't alone anymore."
The truth of it landed slowly, deeply.
I had spent years believing solitude was strength. That connection was a liability. That loving someone meant handing them a weapon.
And yet
Here I was. Still standing. Still whole.
Stronger than I had ever been.
"I don't know what this makes me," I admitted. "I've built my life on certainty. On control."
Elias's hand found mine, fingers threading through instinctively. "It makes you human."
The word unsettled me.
But it didn't scare me.
The next few days were quieter.
Not peaceful never that but quieter.
Marcus disappeared from public view. The media shifted focus. Analysts speculated, then moved on. Empires had short attention spans.
Elias returned to his work without hiding, without posturing. He spoke when necessary, declined when he chose, and refused to let himself be reduced to a symbol.
I watched him navigate it all with quiet strength.
And somewhere along the way, I realized something else had changed.
He wasn't just beside me anymore.
He was anchored.
One evening, we cooked together something simple, imperfect. He laughed when I burned the garlic. I pretended not to care.
Later, we sat on the couch, legs tangled, the television forgotten. His head rested against my chest, my hand tracing slow patterns along his arm.
"You're different," he murmured.
"So are you," I replied.
He tilted his head up, studying me. "Do you regret it? Being seen like this?"
"No," I said immediately.
"Even now?"
"Especially now."
He smiled, small and genuine.
"I was ready to lose you," he admitted quietly. "When all this started."
I stiffened. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"Because I knew you'd choose," he said. "And I wanted that choice to be real."
I held him tighter, the idea of that loss hitting me late and hard.
"I won't put you in that position again," I said.
"You might," he replied gently. "Life doesn't ask permission."
"Then I'll choose again," I said. "Every time."
His fingers curled into my shirt.
That night, lying beside him in the dark, I stared at the ceiling and listened to the rhythm of his breathing.
For the first time in years, sleep didn't feel like escape.
It felt like trust.
I thought of Marcus. Of the board. Of the battles still ahead.
They weren't finished.
But neither was I.
Elias shifted closer in his sleep, arm draping over my chest, possessive without knowing it. I covered his hand with mine, grounding myself in the weight of him.
The world could burn and rebuild itself a thousand times.
This
This was what survived the fire.
And I would protect it with everything I had.