Agatha POV:The smell of stale coffee and antiseptic hung in the air, a strange mix of comfort and despair. I sat across from Charles, the plastic table a flimsy barrier between us, a bouquet of lilies wilting beside my untouched grilled cheese sandwich. He’d insisted on bringing me here, to this dingy little café across the street from the hospital, after catching me crying in the cafeteria.The news of Camille's baby, of Nathan’s daughter being born with a heart defect, had hit me harder than I expected. It wasn't jealousy, not exactly. It was more like… a painful echo of my own losses, a reminder of the fragility of life, of the dreams that could be shattered in an instant.And then there was the guilt, a gnawing ache in my chest, the constant reminder that I was somehow responsible for this whole mess, for the tangled web of pain and betrayal that had ensnared us all."Agatha, you barely touched your food," Charles said, his voice laced with concern, his blue eyes searching mi
Agatha POV:My head throbbed, a dull, insistent ache that pulsed in time with the rhythmic beeping of a machine I couldn't quite place. I blinked, my eyes fluttering open, the harsh fluorescent lights of… a hospital room? … stinging my vision. Disoriented, I tried to sit up, a wave of dizziness washing over me, forcing me back against the starched white pillows.“Whoa, easy there.” A gentle hand pressed against my shoulder. “Just take it easy, Ms. De Rossi. You’re safe now.”A doctor, a young woman with kind eyes and a warm smile, stood beside my bed, a stethoscope dangling from her neck.“What… what happened?” I asked, my voice a raspy whisper, my throat dry and scratchy. “Where… where am I?”“You’re in the hospital, Ms. De Rossi,” she explained patiently. “You fainted in the cafeteria. Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious. Just exhaustion and… well, it seems you haven’t been taking very good care of yourself lately.”Fainted? The cafeteria… Nathan. Camille's baby…The memories of
Charles POV:The taste of Agatha’s lips, a bittersweet mix of tears and uncertainty, lingered, a phantom sensation against my own. The air in the hospital room crackled with tension, thick and heavy with unspoken words, unresolved emotions.Nathan’s presence, a ghost I thought I’d banished, hung over us, a shadow tainting the intimacy I craved. His eyes, those that mirrored my own hunger for Agatha, were a constant, irritating reminder of the past, of the bond they shared—a bond I was determined to sever, once and for all.I forced a smile, my hand lingering on Agatha's cheek, a possessive gesture meant to stake my claim, to ward off any lingering hopes Nathan might harbor.“Are you feeling better now?” I asked, my voice a carefully modulated murmur.Agatha’s gaze, usually so sharp, so focused, was clouded with confusion, her eyes darting between me and Nathan, a silent plea in their depths.“I’m… I’m not a critical patient, Charles,” she said, her voice a shaky whisper, her hand fl
Agatha POV:“Agatha, you’re being reckless! You can’t just discharge yourself. The doctor said you need to rest.” Charles’s voice was a mix of concern and… annoyance? I couldn’t quite tell.I ignored him, signing the discharge papers with a flourish, my hand surprisingly steady despite the lingering dizziness, the exhaustion that tugged at me.“I’m fine, Charles,” I said firmly, my gaze meeting his, unwavering. “Really. I need to be with my father. He needs me.”“But Agatha…”“No, Charles,” I interrupted, my voice sharper than I intended. “I appreciate your concern, but I can’t… I can’t stay here. Not when Dad is…”I couldn’t finish the sentence. The thought of him, lying in that hospital bed, hooked up to machines, his life hanging by a thread, was a physical ache in my chest.“Okay,” Charles said, his voice softening, his hand gently touching my arm, a possessive gesture that both comforted and irritated me. “I understand. I’ll… I’ll drive you.”“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’l
Charles POV:The penthouse was silent, the only sound the gentle clinking of ice in my glass as I swirled the amber liquid, the city lights twinkling below like a scattered handful of diamonds. I should have been celebrating. NexGen was on the brink, Agatha, overwhelmed and vulnerable, was falling right into my carefully laid trap.Yet, a strange unease gnawed at me, a persistent hum beneath the surface of my carefully constructed composure.My father’s voice, sharp and disapproving, echoed in my mind. “NexGen? That’s a risky move, Charles. A De Rossi company? It’s not worth it.”He’d never understood my ambition, my drive to conquer, to possess. He’d always preferred the safe, predictable path, the steady accumulation of wealth and power. He’d never taken risks, never played the game with the same ruthless determination that pulsed through my veins.A soft chime announced the arrival of dinner. My stepmother, a woman whose name I barely remembered, glided into the room."Charles, d
Agatha POV:The penthouse apartment shimmered, a testament to Charles's impeccable taste and extravagant wealth. Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the sleek, modern furniture, the abstract art that adorned the walls, the breathtaking view of the city sprawling beneath us.It was a world away from the sterile white walls of the hospital, the hushed whispers, the constant fear that had clung to me like a second skin.But even in this luxurious sanctuary, a knot of unease tightened in my stomach, a constant reminder of the weight I carried, the decisions I had to make, the tangled mess of my heart that I couldn't seem to unravel.Charles poured me a glass of champagne, the bubbles rising like tiny, effervescent hopes in the crystal flute. He handed it to me, his touch lingering on mine, a possessive gesture that both thrilled and unsettled me."To new beginnings," he said, his voice a warm caress, his blue eyes sparkling with a mixture of admiration and…
Jasmine POV:I tapped my pen against my notepad, the rhythmic click a counterpoint to the frantic pulse of my thoughts. Charles was at it again. This time, it wasn't a hostile takeover or a complex financial scheme – it was Agatha De Rossi, and as always, things were spiraling, fast.My phone buzzed. I knew it would be him, no need to even look at the caller ID. "Jasmine, I need to know everything about Nathan Richards’s finances. Leave no stone unturned!" The words, practically a command, were just a little bit too intense to be just for work, which was usually the case with Charles.I sighed, a small sound that was swallowed by the vast emptiness of my office. I’d been with Charles long enough to recognize the signs – the obsessive focus, the restless pacing, the underlying tension that radiated off him like heat from a furnace. He was smitten, utterly consumed by this woman, and it was making him… reckless."Of course, Charles," I replied, my voice a carefully modulated blend
Agatha POV:“Jasmine,” I said, my voice a carefully controlled whisper, my gaze fixed on her, trying to decipher the emotions hidden beneath her usual calm demeanor. “What are you doing here? Is something wrong with Charles?”Her gaze flickered, a brief flash of something – anxiety? – before her face settled back into a mask of polite professionalism.“No, Ms. De Rossi,” she said, her voice measured, almost clinical. “Nothing has happened to Charles, not physically. It is… another kind of matter entirely.”I leaned back in my chair. The air in the office felt charged with unspoken tension, the silence a heavy weight that pressed down on me.“What do you mean, Jasmine?” I asked, my voice barely audible, my fingers tightening around my pen. “What’s going on?”She hesitated for a moment, her gaze drifting to the window, the city lights a distant, indifferent backdrop to the drama unfolding within these sterile walls. When she looked back, her eyes, usually so cold and calculating, wer
Charles POV:“Agatha,”I murmured, my voice a soft caress, my hand gently cupping her cheek, my thumb brushing away a stray tear that glistened on her lashes.“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”Her eyes, usually so bright and full of fire, were shadowed, clouded with a worry that twisted my gut. She was pale, her shoulders slumped, her whole body radiating a weariness that went beyond mere exhaustion.“Detectives,” she whispered, the word barely audible, a shudder running through her.“They were here, Charles. Asking questions. About Nathan.”My jaw clenched. Richards. Even
Agatha POV:“Ms. De Rossi?”That deeper voice again, Detective Miller, like gravel rolling downhill. It cut through the office air, making Camille flinch beside me. I forced a smile, plastered and fake, and turned to face them.“Detectives,” I said, cool as I could manage, nodding towards the plush chairs. “Please, come in. Have a seat.”They didn’t move, just stood there, blocking the doorway, Detective Davies’s eyes flicking around my office like he expected Nathan to jump out of the potted plant.“We’re fine standing, Ms. De Rossi,” Miller said, his voice polite but firm. “Just a few questions, if you don’t mind.”Mind? My heart was doing a tango in my chest, but I kept my face smooth. “Of course. Anything to help find Nathan.” Lie. The word tasted like ash in my mouth, but it was necessary.“We understand you saw Mr. Richards rece
Agatha POV:The spreadsheets blurred on my computer screen. Numbers swam before my eyes, and the carefully crafted charts seemed to mock my inability to focus.My office, usually a sanctuary of calm efficiency, felt like a pressure cooker today, the weight of NexGen, the weight of Dad’s health, the weight of everything, pressing down on me.I sighed, pushing back from my desk, the leather chair creaking in protest. Coffee. I needed coffee.Or maybe something stronger.But it was barely past noon, and even as CEO, showing up to a board meeting tipsy wasn’t exactly a power move.Just as I stood up, intending to make a run for the office kitchen, Sarah buzzed
Nathan POV:Another shot of whiskey, neat.The bartender, a burly man with eyes that had seen too much and judged nothing, slid the glass across the polished mahogany bar, his movements practiced, efficient, devoid of any warmth or sympathy.Good. Sympathy was the last thing I needed. Pity was poison.All I needed was the burn of the whiskey, the numbing oblivion it offered, a temporary escape from the relentless torment of my thoughts, the gnawing emptiness that had become my constant companion.Days had bled into weeks since I’d sent the letter to Agatha, a desperate, pathetic plea for forgiveness, for another chance, for a lifeline in the drowning sea of my despair.
Agatha POV:“Agatha, board meeting in five. They’re getting restless.”Sarah’s voice, sharp and efficient, buzzed through the intercom, dragging me back from the swirling vortex of my thoughts.“Thanks, Sarah. I’m on my way.” I replied, sighing and pushing back from my desk. Restless was an understatement.The NexGen board was more like a pack of hungry wolves these days, and I was starting to feel like the main course.But as I gathered my notes, my gaze drifted to the corner of my desk, to the cream-colored envelope leaning against my pen holder.Nathan’s handwriting.My stomach clenched. I hadn't touched it since it arrived yesterday, hadn't dared to open it, hadn't even wanted to admit it existed.But its presence was a heavy weight, a silent accusation that pulled at me no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.Board meeting be damned. I needed to know
Agatha POV:“Agatha, come in, come in! Don’t just stand there like a sentinel, you’re letting all the heat out.”Dad’s voice, though still raspy from weeks of disuse, boomed from the depths of his study, a welcome sound that chased away the lingering chill in my heart.I smiled, shaking my head at his theatrics, and stepped inside, the familiar scent of old books, leather, and his ever-present cigars enveloping me in a comforting embrace.He was sitting in his favorite armchair by the fireplace, a worn leather-bound volume in his lap, his reading glasses perched precariously on his nose.Color had returned to his cheeks, his eyes sparkled with their usual intelligence, and the oxygen tank that had been his constant companion for weeks was now tucked discreetly behind the chair.He looked… like himself again. My father. My rock.“Took you long enough,” he grumbled, a playful glint
Charles POV:“Agatha,”I murmured, my voice soft, drawing out the syllables, letting her name linger in the air between us. “You’re quiet.”She was standing by the window, the city lights reflecting in her dark hair, her silhouette a delicate outline against the dawn sky. Beautiful. Untouchable. Mine.I watched her, a possessive warmth blooming in my chest, chasing away the lingering unease of our earlier conversation.Last night had been… a breakthrough. A turning point. She was mine now, in a way she hadn't been before.“Just thinking,” she replied, her voice a soft whisper, barely audible above the gentle hum of the city waking up.
Agatha POV“Charles, what did you say to Nathan?”The question hung in the air of his penthouse, sharp and direct, a stark contrast to the soft jazz music drifting from hidden speakers, the plush velvet couches, the breathtaking city view framed by the massive windows.I watched him carefully, searching for any flicker of deception in his usually open, confident gaze.He turned from the window, a half-empty glass of amber liquid swirling in his hand, his brow furrowed in what looked like genuine confusion.“Nathan? What are you talking about, Agatha?”“Don’t play games, Charles,” I said, my voice steady, my gaze unwavering. “He
Agatha POV:“Don’t bother calling me again, Agatha.”Nathan’s voice, sharp and cold, sliced through the phone, making me flinch.“What? Nathan, what are you talking about?” I asked, my voice a mix of confusion and a sudden, sharp stab of anxiety. What had happened now?“I said don’t call me,” he repeated, his tone flat, final. “I won’t help you. I won’t help NexGen. Do whatever you want. I don’t care anymore.”“Nathan, wait!” I pleaded, my heart pounding against my ribs. “Dad is still in the hospital, NexGen is in trouble, and you’re just… giving up? Now?”