The Note

Finn's POV

I woke to an empty bed and a hollow ache in my chest.

The sheets beside me were cold, Mr Grant had been gone for hours. I reached out, my fingers brushing the empty space where he'd been and i felt the loss like a physical wound.

Then I saw it.

A piece of paper lying on the pillow. His handwriting, sharp and decisive.

"I don't regret it, but I need to think. Give me tonight. I'll come back to you. I promise."

I pressed the note to my chest, my heart pounding. He had left me a note and he promised to come back. He hadn't just disappeared. I read it three times. Then four. Then I folded it carefully and tucked it into the drawer of my nightstand, next to the things I never let anyone see.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, pale and cold. I lay there for a long time, replaying every moment of the night before. His hands on my hips, his mouth on my skin and the way he'd said my name like it was a prayer.

I got out of bed and showered, letting the hot water wash away the last traces of sleep. I dressed slowly, deliberately, taking my time. The house was silent and Grant wasn't back yet.

I made my way downstairs. The kitchen was empty, same with the living room was empty. The study was also empty. The silence pressed in on me, heavy and suffocating.

He said he would come back. He promised. But I couldn't help the doubt that crept in. What if he'd changed his mind?

I sat in the kitchen, staring at a cup of coffee I hadn't touched. My mind raced with worst-case scenarios. I'd never been good at waiting. I'd never been patient. I'd spent a very long time wanting him, and now that I had him, the thought of losing him felt like dying.

Hours passed. The sun climbed higher. I checked my phone every five minutes, hoping for a message. Nothing.

I was about to give up when I heard the front door opening. I was on my feet before I could think. I walked into the foyer, my heart pounding, and there he was.

Mr Grant.

He looked exhausted. His suit was rumpled, his hair disheveled. There were dark circles under his eyes too. He looked like he hadn't slept at all.

He looked at me, and something in his expression shifted. The tension in his shoulders eased and the tightness around his eyes softened.

"Finn." His voice was rough.

I crossed the distance between us in three quick steps. I reached up and touched his face, tracing the dark circles under his eyes. "You didn't sleep."

"I couldn't." He leaned into my touch. "I kept thinking about you. About last night. About everything."

"Good thoughts?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

He laughed, soft and broken. "I don't know what they were. I don't know anything anymore. All I know is that I couldn't stay away."

"Then don't." I pulled him closer. "Don't stay away and don't leave me again."

He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a tight embrace. His face was buried in my hair, and I felt the shuddering breath he took.

"I'm not going anywhere," he murmured. "I promise."

We spent the day together.

Not doing anything significant. Just existing in the same space. We sat in the garden, not talking just watching the clouds drift by. We made lunch together, simple sandwiches that I ate without tasting. We sat in the study, him reading a report, me pretending to read a book.

It was domestic, quiet and peaceful.

I watched him from across the room, memorizing every detail. From the way his brow furrowed when he was concentratin, to the way he ran a hand through his hair when he was frustrated. The way he looked up at me, his lips quirking into a half-smile, when he caught me staring.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing." I smiled. "Just looking at you."

His expression softened. He set aside the report and crossed the room, pulling me out of my chair and into his arms.

"You're going to be the death of me," he murmured against my hair.

"Good." I tilted my face up to kiss him. "At least you'll die happy."

He left that evening to "clear his head," as he put it. He kissed me at the door and promised he'd be back in the morning.

"Don't stay away too long," I said.

"I won't." He traced my jaw with his thumb. "You'll wait for me?"

"Always."

He left, and the house felt emptier again without him. I went back to my room and lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. My phone buzzed. I grabbed it, hoping it was him.

It was Naomi.

"Finn! How's my favorite son? Missing me already? I'll send you pics from set. The location is stunning. You'd love it. Call me when you can. Xoxo"

I stared at the message. She was in her own world, as always. She had no idea what was happening in her own house. No idea that her husband and her son were….

I set the phone down and closed my eyes.

The guilt hit me then, sharp and sudden. She was my mother. She was selfish and absent and barely a parent, but she was still my mother. And I was sleeping with her husband.

I should have felt worse. I should have been drowning in shame, instead all I felt was the ghost of Grant's touch on my skin. All I heard was his voice in my ear and all I wanted was more.

I was a bad person. I knew that.

But I didn't care.

The next morning, I woke to a text from Grant.

"I'm running late, the meeting ran over. But i'll be there by noon. Wait for me."

I smiled at the screen and ttyped back: "Always."

I went downstairs and made coffee. I sat in the kitchen, scrolling through my phone, trying to pass the time. Then my phone buzzed again.

"Finn, something's come up. I'll explain later."

I frowned. That was weird. I typed back: "What happened?"

No response.

I waited. Five minutes. Ten. Twenty. Then my phone buzzed again, but not Grant. A notification from a gossip site. I opened it, my stomach dropped.

"EXCLUSIVE: CEO GRANT STERLING SEEN WITH MYSTERIOUS MAN—MARRIAGE IN TROUBLE?"

My blood went cold.

I opened the article. There were grainy photos, taken from a distance of Grant leaving a hotel. A man was with him. The man's face was hidden with his back to the camera, but I knew it wasn't me.

My heart pounded. Who was that man? What was Grant doing at a hotel? Had he been lying to me?

No. No, I was being paranoid. There definitely had to be an explanation. There had to be. I called him. It went to voicemail.

I called again. Voicemail.

I sent a text: "Grant. What's going on? Who is that man?"

Still no response.

The minutes stretched into hours. I paced the house, my mind racing with possibilities. None of them were good.

When Grant finally walked through the door, I was ready to explode.

"Who was he?" I demanded. "Who was the man at the hotel?"

Grant froze. His face went pale. "Finn…."

"Don't 'Finn' me." I was shaking. "I saw the photos. You were at a hotel with someone. Who was it?"

Grant ran a hand through his hair. He looked wrecked. "I can explain…."

"Then explain!" My voice cracked. "I've been waiting for you for years, Grant. Years. And now I see you with…"

"It was my brother."

The words hung in the air.

I blinked. "What?"

Grant stepped closer, his expression pleading. "My brother. His name is Ethan. He's... he's been in trouble. He needed help. I met him at the hotel to talk. That's all."

"Your brother?" I stared at him. "You never told me you had a brother."

"Because I've spent my whole life pretending he doesn't exist." Grant's voice was hollow. "He was the one who introduced me to that life. The one who showed me what I really wanted. When I decided to bury it, I buried him too."

I didn't know what to say.

"I should have told you," Grant continued. "I should have explained. But I was scared. I'm always scared with you, Finn. Scared of losing you. Scared of what this means. Scared of everything."

He reached for me. I let him pull me into his arms.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm so sorry."

I pressed my face against his chest, breathing him in.

"Don't keep secrets from me," I whispered. "I can handle the truth. Whatever it is, just don't lie."

"I won't." He kissed the top of my head. "I promise."

But I couldn't shake the feeling that he was still hiding something.

Something bigger than a brother.