The dark patterns on the ceiling were the only things holding my attention. Sleep had become a distant memory, something other people experienced. Every time I tried to drift off, my mind would replay the same scenes, like a broken record. Audrey's smile, the sound of her laughter, the warmth in her eyes before the sickness took hold and stole her away from me. It had been nearly a year since I lost her, but the pain was still fresh, like a wound that refused to heal. It clung to me, suffocating me with each passing day.
The world kept spinning, expecting me to get back on track, to rejoin the living. But I felt stuck, frozen in time, unable to move forward. Business meetings, important investment deals, and endless financial reports – they all seemed pointless now. My company, the empire I had painstakingly built from the ground up, was starting to show cracks, and I honestly couldn't bring myself to care.
But Fiona cared.
My sister had always been the strong one in our family, the voice of reason that cut through my emotional fog. Lately, though, even her seemingly endless patience was wearing thin. She stormed into my office that morning, her eyes blazing with a frustration I hadn't seen directed at me in a long time.
"You can't keep doing this, Callum!" she said sharply, the sound of a stack of documents hitting my desk echoing in the otherwise silent room. "You're letting everything slip through your fingers."
I barely glanced at the papers she'd thrown down. "It doesn't matter," I mumbled, my gaze fixed on some invisible point in the distance.
Her jaw tightened, a clear sign of her rising anger. "It matters, Callum. A lot.
Your local business partner just managed to swindle you out of millions. If you don't pull yourself together and act now, you'll lose more than just money."
I let out a heavy breath, rubbing my temples, trying to ease the persistent ache behind my eyes. "I'll handle it," I said, the words feeling hollow even to my own ears.
"When, Callum? After everything has completely fallen apart?" She crossed her arms, her disappointment hanging in the air like a thick cloud. "Audrey wouldn't want this. She wouldn't want to see you like this."
Hearing Audrey's name felt like a physical blow. My hand instinctively tightened around the glass of whiskey I held, the only constant companion I'd had lately. "Leave her out of this, Fiona," I said, my voice low and dangerous.
Fiona's expression softened slightly, the anger replaced by a weary sadness. "Then fight for what's left, Callum. Please. Go to one of your estates. Clear your head. Do something, anything, before it's truly too late."
I didn't argue with her. Partly because I was too exhausted to fight, but mostly because deep down, I knew she was right. I needed to escape the suffocating city, to find some space to breathe, to think without the constant reminders of my failures.
By the time my driver pulled up to the gates of the estate, the sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. This place, nestled away from the city's chaos, was one of the few places where I could almost forget everything. The wrought iron gates creaked open as we drove into the long, winding driveway, and I stepped out of the car, taking a deep breath of the cool evening air.
I turned towards the sprawling lawn, my eyes scanning the familiar landscape. And that's when I saw her.
A woman was lying on the grass, just outside the edge of my property, near the overgrown bushes. Her body was curled up, as if trying to protect herself from the world. Her hair, dark and tangled, spilled over her face, hiding her features. Her dress was rumpled and torn in several places, hinting at some kind of struggle. For a split second, a cold fear gripped me. I thought she was dead.
A strange, unfamiliar rush of panic shot through me. I walked quickly towards her, my long strides eating up the distance. I knelt beside her still form, my heart pounding in my chest. Up close, I could see the faint rise and fall of her chest – she was alive, but her breathing was shallow and weak, like a fragile whisper. Her skin felt warm under my touch, but there was a vulnerability about her that made my stomach clench.
"Who the hell is she?" my driver muttered from behind me, his voice laced with concern and suspicion.
I ignored him, my attention completely focused on the woman on the ground. My gaze moved over her delicate features, the curve of her cheekbone, the long, dark lashes that cast shadows on her pale skin. Even in her current state, disheveled and unconscious, she possessed a striking beauty. An unexpected wave of protectiveness washed over me, a feeling I hadn't experienced in what felt like an eternity. It was foreign, unwelcome, yet undeniably there.
"She needs help," I said, my voice rough, the words cutting through the evening air. I carefully scooped her up into my arms.
She didn't stir, her head falling against my shoulder, her body surprisingly light. I carried her towards the house, ignoring the confused and questioning stares of my staff as I walked through the grand hallway.
"Prepare a room," I ordered, my voice firm, more decisive than it had been in months. The sound of my own voice surprised me.
The maids exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes wide with curiosity and perhaps a hint of disapproval, but none dared to question my command. I carried the woman to one of the guest rooms, a quiet space usually reserved for visiting family. I laid her gently on the soft mattress, taking care not to jostle her. As I reached out and brushed a stray strand of dark hair from her face, I felt an odd sense of responsibility settle over me. It was a strange and unfamiliar weight, but one I didn't immediately reject.
Who was she? What had happened to her? How did she end up unconscious and alone on the edge of my property?
And why did I feel, as I looked at her fragile form lying on my guest bed, as if for the first time in a long time, something finally mattered again? The grief was still there, a dull ache in my chest, but it was momentarily overshadowed by a flicker of something else – a spark of curiosity, perhaps even a hint of hope. It was a dangerous feeling, one I hadn't allowed myself to entertain in months, but it was there nonetheless, a tiny seed of something new in the barren landscape of my heart.