Chapter 107

Drew’s POV

The walls of my office reflected a city that never slept, but inside, it felt like I was watching the world from behind a slice of ice. Since after the launch, business has been doing great as expected. The numbers were up, reservations were pouring in, and Sinclair Enterprises was running smoother than ever.

On paper, I should have been celebrating. My team should have seen me smiling, shaking hands, maybe even giving them one of those rare speeches about progress and vision. I was supposed to be on cloud nine because what I just accomplished was not a small feat and in fact a lot of businesses now envied mine and people were begging to buy shares in my company. But in the midst of all these achievements I felt empty inside.

Instead, I barely heard myself when I approved proposals. My voice carried, but it did not reach me. I signed contracts without scanning the fine print, not because I trusted the people but because I did not have the energy to care. In one word I was ‘miserable’

The staff noticed. They always did.

I was walking past the reception on my way to the elevator when I caught it, two voices trying to speak low but not low enough. My secretary stood with one of the other office assistants.

“He is not the same anymore,” she whispered, her voice lined with worry. “Ever since the launch… he comes in on time, he leaves on time, but it’s like his mind is not here. He barely looks at people and has become like a shadow of himself.”

The other replied with a sigh, “Yeah, I noticed. I really do hope it’s not burnout. Maybe he just needs a break, the launch was a huge one and can take a heavy toll on anyone, even the almighty and untouchable Drew Sinclair.”

Their words hovered in the air, sharp as glass, and I knew they were about me. Still I didn't let them know that I heard their conversation. I wasn't in the mood for any more added drama but their words clung to me anyway. Me, Drew Sinclair, a shadow of myself.

Maybe they were right.

The rest of the day dragged on like a bad performance. Meetings, updates, decisions. I gave instructions with the same crisp tone as always, but I could feel the weight in the room, the unease. My secretary lingered longer than usual whenever she placed a file on my desk, like she wanted to say something but thought better of it.

I didn’t give her the chance.

When evening finally came, I dismissed the last meeting earlier than planned. My executives left with stiff smiles, relieved to escape my clipped responses. Alone, I sat in the silence of my office, staring at the skyline.

This was supposed to feel like victory. The city glittered below, the hotel thriving, my empire stronger than ever. But all I felt was the hollow echo of her absence.

I remembered the way Lila looked at me the last time; hurt and betrayed, as if I had become someone she could not recognize. And maybe I had. I told myself she left without looking back, that if she cared, she would have stayed. That was my defense mechanism and the only way to protect myself from admitting the truth, which was that I was the one who pushed her away.

I left the office before anyone else could catch another glimpse of the shell I had become and headed straight to my penthouse.

The penthouse was spotless when I walked in, just as I had left it. Too spotless. Too quiet. Every inch of it screamed success but not a single inch felt like home.

I loosened my tie and threw it carelessly on the counter, then went straight to the cabinet where the whiskey waited. I had avoided it for days, maybe weeks, telling myself I did not need it. But tonight, I did.

The amber liquid slid into the glass, catching the glow of the city lights spilling in through the windows. I downed the first gulp without hesitation. It burned, but not enough.

Another pour. Another sip.

The silence pressed in harder with every swallow. I leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling, and before I knew it, my phone was in my hand.

Her name glowed up at me from the screen. Still saved. Still untouched. I could have deleted it after I found out she left. I could have deleted it after the hospital when the truth came out. But I didn’t.

Why?

I told myself it was because I needed closure. That maybe one day I would call just to demand an explanation. But the truth gnawed at me and I knew I couldn’t let her go. Not completely.

I set the phone down, grabbed the glass, and drained it again. The room spun just a little, the edges softening. My head was heavy and my chest heavier.

I pressed my palms into my eyes, the image of her face flashing again. Her lips trembling, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. The way she whispered my name like it was the last thing keeping her together.

I cursed under my breath, the sound sharp in the empty room.

The phone was back in my hand before I even realized it. My thumb hovered over her contact, my pulse thrumming loud in my ears.

“Don’t do it,” I muttered, the words slurring slightly from the whiskey. “She is gone. She left.”

But my hand did not listen. My pride screamed at me to stop, but my emotions were raw, drunk and unguarded and they betrayed me.

Before I could think, before I could talk myself out of it, my thumb pressed the screen.

Dialing…

The ringtone buzzed in my ear, each beat like a hammer against my chest.

And in that moment, drunk and desperate, I did not know if I wanted her to pick up or if I was terrified she actually would.