The echo of metal clinking and low grunts reverberated through the Hansen mansion's private gym. The early morning sun filtered through the tall windows, casting soft golden stripes across the polished floors. The air smelled faintly of sweat and citrus—the aftershave Oliver had thrown on carelessly after waking up at dawn again.
He was deep in his fifth set of shoulder presses, his muscles burning, sweat dripping down his temples. This had become his new religion—iron, sweat, pain. The only things that listened without judgment.
His breath came hard. Keep pushing. Keep forgetting. Don’t stop.
He finished the set with a grunt and dropped the dumbbells to the floor with a heavy thud, then hunched forward, hands on knees, catching his breath.
The door opened.
Rickard stepped in, dressed
