Chapter Seventy One

Arnold’s Pov

I recline in the comfort of my private lounge, surrounded by the familiar ambiance of the living room. The soft glow from the TV screen flickers, casting shadows as a movie plays. However, the allure of the film is lost on me. My attention is a captive audience to the turbulent thoughts swirling within.

Despite the distraction of popcorn at my side, the taste is bland against the bitter aftertaste of emotional turmoil. Kylie's absence echoes louder than the dialogue on the screen. Her image occupies the spaces between scenes, leaving me grappling with the haunting memories of our recent discord.

The desire for her presence is an ache that refuses to be drowned out by the movie's soundtrack. How did we reach this point? I mull over the hurt, the confusion, and the tangled mess of emotions. The emotional storm within me has grown wearisome, and I find myself yearning for a reprieve from the relentless waves of feeling.

My relaxation is abruptly shattered when my beta urgen