Loyalties?

The study in the Harrington estate was a room of solemn grandeur. Robert Harrington stood by the window, his tall frame silhouetted against the faint light leaking through the curtains. He was a man who carried his years with dignity, though tonight his shoulders sagged under an invisible weight. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass absentmindedly, his expression a mixture of regret and determination. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, now seemed clouded with emotion.

Helena entered the study with her usual poise. Her red-burgundy silk dress hugged her figure. As she closed the door behind her, the soft click reverberated like a gunshot in the silence.

"Robert," she began, "are we going to discuss this nonsense?"

He didn't turn to face her. "What nonsense, Helena?" His voice was calm, though it carried an edge of weariness.