Rose walked down a little later, a small smile to herself playing on her lips. "Hey, handsome" She said, walking over to him and sitting beside him

"Hey," He says,laughing at the show as Hank said something.

Rose glanced at him and leaned against him, placing her head on his shoulder

Caden’s fingers tightened around the remote as the tension between the brothers, Hank and Evan, on Royal Pains grew more palpable. The camera zoomed in on Evan, his face crumpling as he finally spoke what had been weighing on him for years. His voice cracked, raw with emotion.

“You think I’ve had it easy, Hank?” Evan asked, his eyes hollow with frustration. “You think I’m just this guy who’s always messing up? You have no idea what it’s like, living in your shadow, pretending to be something I’m not. I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want to be your version of perfect. I don’t want to live this life. I don’t want to be me anymore.”

Hank opened his mouth to speak, but Evan’s hand shot up to stop him. “I can’t do it. I can’t keep pretending like everything’s okay. I’m not okay. I’m exhausted, Hank. Every day, I wake up, trying to hold everything together, trying to be who everyone expects me to be, and I don’t even know who I am anymore. I just... I just want to live a normal life. I want to feel like I’m enough for once, without constantly measuring myself against you or anyone else. I just want to breathe."

The raw honesty in Evan’s words hit Caden like a punch to the gut. He sat frozen, his gaze locked on the TV, his chest tightening as Evan’s confession filled the room. He could almost feel the weight of those words settle over him, like a heavy cloud he couldn’t shake. It was so familiar, so close to home. The constant pressure. The feeling of not being enough. The fight to keep everything together, even when everything felt like it was falling apart.

Evan’s face crumpled as the words tumbled out. “I’m tired, Hank. I’m really tired of this.”

Caden’s hand dropped to his lap as the screen went silent, the moment stretching in the stillness. His thoughts spun, his chest heavy, as Evan’s words echoed in his mind. “I just want to live a normal life.” The idea hit harder than any deal he’d ever closed. Here he was—someone who had built an empire, who had everything on paper, and yet he couldn’t help but feel the same exhaustion Evan had just voiced.

He didn’t even realize he had paused the show until the still image of Evan’s face, raw and vulnerable, stared back at him. The weight of his own life, of all the things he had fought so hard for, felt heavier than it had in years. The pressure of trying to fix everything, of always being the one with the answers, was suffocating.

Murphy shifted beside him, but Caden didn’t react. His mind was a million miles away, grappling with the truth of what Evan had said. "I’m tired. I’m really tired of this."

And for the first time in a long time, Caden didn’t know if he could keep carrying the weight anymore. He exhaled slowly, staring at the paused image of Evan, the emotions building up inside of him like a tidal wave, but he said nothing. He couldn’t find the words.

The silence in the room was deafening.

After a while Rose spoke, concerned now. "You okay?" She asked quietly, her hand resting on his

"Sure..."

Caden stared at the screen, his fingers absently tapping the remote. The show resumed, but his mind was far from the drama unfolding between Hank and Evan. It doesn’t matter, he thought again, the words repeating themselves like a mantra. None of this matters.

Evan’s raw confession still lingered in his thoughts: “I just want to live a normal life.” It hit harder than he wanted to admit. The fight to fix everything, to hold it all together—his company, his reputation, his world—it was all starting to feel like a relentless cycle of emptiness. It doesn’t matter. The words echoed in his head, louder than the dialogue on the TV. No matter how much he built, how much he had achieved, it felt like there was always something missing.

Rose’s warmth next to him, Murphy curled up at his feet—these moments should have felt like enough, but they were fleeting. The pressure, the constant expectations, the weight of it all—he couldn’t escape it. It was like a shadow he could never outrun. It doesn’t matter.

The quiet hum of the television, the distant sound of Evan and Hank’s argument, felt like a strange mirror to his own life. They’re just two brothers. Two people trying to fix things that don’t always need fixing, Caden thought, his jaw tightening. He didn’t need to fix it all. But he couldn’t stop trying. It doesn’t matter, he repeated, as though somehow trying to convince himself.

His hand tightened around the remote, his gaze flickering to Rose briefly. She was still resting against him, unaware of the turmoil swirling inside his mind. And he let out a soft, bitter laugh under his breath. It doesn’t matter. He had everything on paper. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that none of it was enough.

The show continued, the plot unfolding, but Caden wasn’t really watching anymore. His mind drifted, his thoughts spiraling back to the same place. He didn’t know how to stop. Didn’t know if he wanted to.

It doesn’t matter.

Rose felt his tenseness beside her and traced the muscles on his arm, thinking about what he ight be thinking

Caden’s fingers tightened briefly around the remote, the weight of his thoughts pulling him deeper into the quiet. He reached down, giving Murphy one last scratch behind the ear, then slowly rose from the couch, careful not to disturb Rose. Caden paused for a moment, looking down at her, his chest heavy, before walking silently toward the door.

As he approached the door to the bedroom, the stillness of the house felt suffocating, like a thick fog surrounding him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was drowning in everything. The empire. The expectations. The relentless pressure to keep everything moving. It was all too much.

He needed air. Space. Somewhere away from it all.

He stepped into the bedroom, his footsteps light as he made his way toward the balcony doors. The night was quiet outside, the air cool but not cold, the kind of breeze that felt like it could clear his mind if he let it. He needed to think, or perhaps just escape the constant hum of his own thoughts.

With a quiet sigh, Caden pushed open the balcony doors and stepped outside. The cool air hit him, refreshing, but not enough to clear the weight from his shoulders. He leaned against the railing, staring out at the city lights stretching beneath him, the far-off hum of life continuing while he stood still, suspended in his own thoughts.

He shut the door behind him with a soft click, the sound final, sealing off the world inside. The space felt vast and open, just what he needed—just for a moment.

It doesn’t matter.

The thought was there again, that familiar ache, that quiet resignation. He could feel the emptiness creeping in, the nagging feeling that despite everything he had, he was still chasing something. But what was it? What could ever be enough?

His gaze wandered out to the horizon, the faint outline of the city in the distance, a world that continued to turn without his input, without his control. For the first time in a long time, he realized how little control he actually had. The thought stung more than it should have.

But here, standing on the balcony, in the cool night air, the quiet seemed to offer him something the rest of his world couldn’t. A brief sense of relief, of peace.

Caden took a slow breath, his fingers brushing against the railing as he closed his eyes for a moment. For just this one moment, he could let go.

It doesn't matter.

Rose watched him get up and walk away, and she settled to lay down

Caden remained on the balcony, his hands gripping the railing, staring out at the city below. The cool air bit at his skin, but it did little to clear the fog that had settled in his mind. He couldn’t shake the repetition of the same thought: It doesn’t matter. He had said it so many times in his head, as if trying to drown out everything else, but now, it felt like the words themselves were suffocating him.

Why do I keep saying it? The thought crept in, uninvited, as he stared into the distance. His gaze faltered, his mind racing, and a strange unease began to build. What was he trying to convince himself of?

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d let himself just be, without the pressure, without the weight of the empire and the constant chase. But as he repeated the words again, his mind twisted. It doesn’t matter.

The paranoia crept in, making him second-guess himself. He shook his head, trying to shake the feeling off. The cool night air felt colder now, biting at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the chill spreading through his thoughts. It doesn’t matter, he thought again, but the more he said it, the more it started to sound false.

A knot tightened in his chest, a subtle dread starting to seep in. Was it really true? Did it not matter? Or was he just too tired to care anymore?

His gaze flickered to the darkness around him, his mind tracing over every possible outcome. Every risk he’d taken, every choice he’d made. The decisions that had built his empire. It doesn’t matter, he tried to tell himself again, but the words were starting to feel like a mantra he was forcing into existence.

A wave of unease washed over him. He had everything. He should be content. He should be happy. But the repetition of the phrase only made him feel more detached from everything. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.

Each time he said it, it felt more like a lie.

Caden clenched his fists against the railing, his pulse quickening. The chill in the air seemed to seep deeper into his bones now, as if it wasn’t just the temperature he was feeling, but the weight of his own thoughts. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the words—those damn words—kept circling in his head, louder and louder.

It doesn’t matter. The paranoia was real now. Why couldn’t he stop? Why was he so obsessed with convincing himself that it didn’t matter? It was almost as if, by saying it enough, he could somehow erase everything he had built—erase the tension, the expectations, the constant need for control. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t that simple.

And the more he tried to push it all away, the more it pressed back into his mind, tighter and tighter.

It felt like everything was unraveling, piece by piece, and he wasn’t sure how to stop it.