Chapter 4

Her picture taunts me from the screen. Leah Carrington. The woman I loved more than life itself. The woman I lost not to time, not to death, but to another man.

Her hazel eyes, even through the cold detachment of a photograph, cut through my carefully constructed walls. They seem to ask me the one question I can never answer: Why didn’t you come back sooner?

But I did. God, I did. It just wasn’t enough.

I lean back in my chair, dragging a hand down my face as the memories resurface. They always do when I think of Leah. I’ve tried to keep her locked away in some deep, hidden part of my mind, but she always finds her way back, clawing her way into my thoughts.

I remember the warmth of her smile, so bright it could chase away the darkest storm. The way she’d throw her head back when she laughed, her hair cascading down her shoulders in waves that always smelled like lavender. I remember how she used to dance barefoot in the rain, pulling me along with her, laughing like the world couldn’t touch her.

"Someday, Dwight," she’d say, her voice filled with that endless optimism I admired so much, "we’ll build a home. A big one, with a porch swing and a garden full of sunflowers and roses."

We had plans. Big, beautiful plants. Plans that ended the day I was taken.

I still remember the chill of the metal against my wrists, the bruising grip of rough hands hauling me into the back of a van. It was supposed to be a simple trip—a last errand before our wedding. Our planned honeymoon where I'd give her the beautiful jewelry I'd gotten her. But fate had other plans. 

Weeks turned into months as I endured hell. Torture. Starvation. Isolation. Every night, I clung to the thought of Leah, her face the only thing keeping me alive. I swore I’d make it back to her, no matter what it took.

When I finally escaped, broken and barely alive, I returned to a world that had moved on without me. 

I tried everything to forget her. I lost myself in women, their names and faces blurring together in a haze of meaningless encounters. I drank until the ache dulled, only to wake up with it throbbing in my chest all over again. Nothing worked. Nothing could fill the void Leah left behind.

And then, one day, I picked up a piece of metal and started shaping it. At first, it was just a distraction—a way to keep my hands busy and my mind from spiraling into darker places. But soon, it became something more.

I started making jewelry, crafting intricate pieces that spoke to people in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Each design was born from my pain, my longing, and my need to create something meaningful in a world that no longer made sense. And the world noticed.

Before long, people were talking about the mysterious new brand, Glimmr. Orders flooded in, money started pouring into my account, and I seized the opportunity to turn my pain into power. I built Glimmr into an empire, pouring every ounce of my energy into making it the best in the business.

The irony wasn’t lost on me—me, a man who had lost everything, now creating objects that symbolized love and connection. But I didn’t care. If I couldn’t have Leah, I would have wealth. Power. Revenge.

Over the years, hundreds of companies came knocking, desperate for a chance to collaborate with Glimmr. High-end fashion brands, global conglomerates, even startups with fresh ideas—they all wanted a piece of what I’d built. But I turned them all down. Every single one.

I didn’t need them. I didn’t want them.

Then Leah’s father came knocking.

When I first saw the email, I almost deleted it without reading it. But curiosity got the better of me, and I opened it, expecting yet another generic pitch. Instead, I found a detailed proposal for a collaboration between Veloura, one of the most prestigious clothing brands in the world, and Glimmr.

I wasn’t interested—at least, not at first. But then I saw Leah’s name mentioned in the proposal.

It wasn’t her father’s pitch that convinced me. It wasn’t the potential for profit or the prestige of working with Veloura. It was the simple fact that agreeing to this collaboration meant seeing Leah again.

I told myself it wasn’t about her. That it was just business. But deep down, I knew the truth.

I agreed to the collaboration for one reason and one reason only: Leah.

I glance at her picture again, my jaw tightening. In two days, I’ll see her face-to-face. After all these years, after everything that’s happened, I’ll finally have the chance to look into those hazel eyes again.

But this time, it won’t be me begging for a second chance.

This time, Leah will see the man I’ve become. The man who built an empire out of nothing. The man who rose from the ashes of what we once had.

This time, I’ll be the one in control.