8. What was it all for?

Luca

After a while, driving at normal speed wasn't doing much to calm the thoughts that swirled in my head. If anything, it only made me more angry at myself and the world at large.

My fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard that my knuckles began to turn white from the pressure. The only sound that could be heard in the car was from the engine and the occasional curses I spat at myself under my breath.

Five years.

Five years of grinding, bleeding, and pushing myself past exhaustion till I finally did what I promised myself.

I became a wealthy hotelier. A man of influence and power. My name made it to Forbes Under thirty-five list.

I built an empire from the ground up, stacking achievements like bricks until I stood taller than anyone who doubted me. I have obtained everything I wanted and more in half a decade—which is a short period for most people my age, but not for me.

I had always laughed whenever I read on blogs that it was either luck, joining some secret organization, or getting involved in some shady deals that helped with my success. I let them talk.

Because they were all wrong.

It was neither luck. It wasn't a secret connection. It wasn't an illegal deal.

It was her.

Or rather, the thought of her kept me going all these years.

Diane had been my driving force. I had wanted to give up so many times, but every time I pictured her, I just couldn't afford to.

I had to build myself into the man that was worthy of her.

I had wanted to come to her with my head high, proud of myself that the years hadn't been in vain.

However, I came back to a completely different Diane and an even more complicated situation.

And despite all of my accomplishments, despite everything I had built, knowing that Diane has found her happiness with another man makes me feel fucking empty.

I needed her back in my life.

I would do anything, and give anything, just to have her heart back.

I needed to channel these feelings towards something.

Something that would make my adrenaline pump more.

Without a second thought, I slammed my foot on the accelerator, and the car roared to life under the new command. Streetlights and cars became a blur as I zoomed past them, ignoring the traffic rules.

Did it help with the maddening thoughts?

Fuck yes.

The reckless speed drowned out the noise in my head, numbing everything except the rush of adrenaline that pumped through my veins.

As I approached my house, I pressed the intercom button in the car twice, then a male voice came through.

“Yes, Sir?”

“Open the fucking gates, Daniel,” I ordered.

There was a brief pause, then a sign. “Rough night, Sir?”

I didn't answer. I didn't need to.

And soon I could see the gates wide open, waiting for me to welcome me.

“One day, you're going to wreck that car,” he muttered through the intercom. “Or yourself.”

“Not tonight,” I said flatly.

“Maybe not. But you keep pushing yourself, Boss.”

He wasn't wrong.

This wasn't the first time I'd be doing this, and my security guard had gotten used to it already. He had given up on trying to lecture me a long time ago, but sometimes, he still tries.

But have I ever listened?

No.

Because no one tells me what to do.

I didn't slow down as I got closer to the opened gate, instead, I sped into the driveway, and the tires screeched as I hit the brakes, bringing the car to a stop in front of my mansion. The headlight lit up the entrance, revealing John, the butler, standing there in his crisp white and black uniform.

I turned off the engine, and for a moment, everything was quiet except for the sound of my breathing in the car.

I pushed the door open and stepped out.

“Welcome home, Sir,” John greeted, with his hands clasped neatly in front of him. Unlike Daniel, he never sighed. He never tried to lecture me. He just did his job with the same unreadable expression every damn day.

I tossed the car keys to him, which he caught easily in his hands, gave me a small nod, and proceeded to park the car properly.

The house was dark and empty, just the way I liked it. My shoes echoed as I walked inside and headed straight for the stairs. My body was tense and my mind was still a mess.

When I reached my room, I slammed the door shut and leaned against it as I ran my hands over my face and exhaled. I loosened my bow tie, unbuttoned my shirt, and took off my jacket, letting it fall to the ground before walking to my bed.

The room felt cold and lifeless.

I collapsed onto the mattress and my eyes went straight to the only picture I had of Diane that was sitting on my bedside table. It was small and already worn with age, but I never let it go. Even when I tried to hide it, I always found myself looking at it again.

I picked it up and my fingers traced the ages.

I remembered everything about her. The way she used to laugh. The way she used to hug me so tightly as if she belonged in my arms. The innocence in her eyes.

And the way she looked at me the night I broke her heart.

I sat up with a groan and ran my hand over my hair. I needed to get out of my head.

I set the frame back on the nightstand, took off my shirt, and left the room bare-chested. I walked down the hall until I reached the one place that had always helped clear my head—my painting room.

I folded my arms across my chest as I stood in front of a large canvas, covered with a white cloth.

After a while of staring at it, I pulled the cloth down to reveal an unfinished painting of Diane. Her face was almost complete, and every detail was perfect. But her eyes…I could never get them right. Maybe because the last time I saw them they were full of pain.

I sat on the chair and stared at the painting. My chest ached, and the silence in the room felt heavier than before. I felt like it was haunting me, punishing me for being so weak and selfish. Telling me that I had lost Diane already and would never get a second chance.

I reached for the whiskey bottle on the side table, took off the cap, and took a long sip. The liquid burned as it passed down my throat, but the burn in my throat was nothing compared to the burn in my heart.

I didn't know when I picked up my phone and clicked on her number. Before I could stop myself, I hit call.

It rang once. Twice. Then voicemail.

Of course.

I let out a shaky breath and closed my eyes.

“Hey, Diane…” My voice came out rough and slurred. “I know you won't hear this. You probably changed your number. But I just…I needed to say something.”

I stared at the painting, gripping the whiskey bottle in one hand and my phone in the other.

“I fucked up.” My throat tightened. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I needed to prove something. But all I did was lose the only person that made me feel alive.”

I let out a dry laugh.

“I see you now…with him. You look happy.” I clenched my jaw. “And I hate it. I hate that it's not me making you smile like that, Diane.”

Silence filled the room.

“I just…I miss you, Diane.” My voice was barely a whisper. “I miss you more than I should.”

My eyes started to close from the effect of the alcohol.

The last thing I remembered before everything went black was my phone dropping from my hand.