Sarah smirked as she swirled her wine, the city lights painting silver streaks across the glass.Dorian's voice still lingered in her ear, heavy with frustration and quiet desperation. She lived for this."You really want her back that badly, don't you?" she murmured, tone syrupy sweet. “Even after everything.”Dorian didn’t answer that. The silence on the other end was answer enough.Sarah’s smile widened.“Well,” she purred, rising from her chair and walking slowly toward her window. “Since you’re finally ready to stop playing house and start playing war, here’s how we do it.”She paused dramatically, enjoying every second.“You’ve been too soft, Dorian. Trying to win her over with truth and loyalty and safe little havens. But women like Vera, once they’ve had a taste of power, of independence, they don’t fall for that anymore. You want her back?”“Yes.”“Then we hit her where she’s most vulnerable.”His voice darkened. “You’re not touching Eira.”A short, cruel laugh. “Oh please. I
Dorian stood in the center of his suite, phone still in hand, her final words ringing in his ears.“I just.. need space.”Space.That was always the beginning of the end.The line had gone dead, but Dorian still stared at the screen, as if willing it to change. To call back. To rewind time. To undo the letter that had ruined everything.His jaw clenched, breath hitching once, twice, before his composure broke.CRASH.The glass tumbler on his desk flew across the room and shattered against the wall, bourbon dripping down like tears.His breaths came fast now, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. The perfectly organized space around him, sleek, clean, minimal, suddenly felt suffocating. Everything about it reeked of control. Order. Precision.And now, it all mocked him.Everything he had done, for her.All the sacrifices. All the silence. The nights he stayed up watching Eira breathe in her crib, listening for her cries when Vera was too exhausted to wake. The business d
The ride back was mostly quiet.Eira had fallen asleep against the window with her hand still clutching the small flower she’d picked earlier. The petals were a little wilted now, but she held onto them like they were magic.Vera stared at her daughter and tried to breathe through the storm still churning in her chest. The words from Elena’s letter still played on repeat in her mind, looping like a haunting melody she couldn’t silence.But with Asher driving steadily beside her, glancing at her every so often with concern and unspoken reassurance, she didn’t feel like she was drowning.Not completely.Not anymore.When they finally pulled into the underground garage, Asher turned off the engine and looked at her.“Do you want to rest for a bit before dinner?” he asked gently.She looked at him and shook her head. “No. I think I need to be with you both. I’ve been alone in this for too long.”He reached out and brushed a thumb across her cheek. “Then we’ll stay with you. For as long as
The cemetery was peaceful.Tall trees swayed gently with the breeze, their leaves whispering like they carried secrets too old for the living.The path was lined with gravel and petals from nearby flowers, crunching softly under their shoes as they walked.Vera held a small bouquet of white lilies, Elena’s favorite. She didn’t say much. Didn’t need to.Her eyes scanned the rows until she stopped.There it was.Elena Sterling.Beloved Daughter. Devoted Mother. A Light That Endured.The headstone was sleek and understated, like the woman herself. Sterling silver lettering etched into black granite.There were fresh flowers already there, someone else must’ve visited recently. Maybe one of her assistants. Or Eliza.Vera stood very still.Asher gently touched her back. “We’ll be nearby. Take your time.”She nodded, unable to find her voice. Eira gave her hand a soft squeeze before letting go, whispering, “Be brave, Mommy,” then walked off with Asher toward a shaded bench across the field.
“What should we make?” Vera asked, tying her hair up.“Pancakes. With chocolate chips!” Eira declared with no hesitation. “And strawberries. And whipped cream. And those eggs Daddy always makes but you never let me put ketchup on.”Vera laughed, really laughed... “Alright, boss. Let’s get to work.”They moved around the kitchen in a kind of rhythm only a mother and daughter could share.Eira mixed the batter with exaggerated muscle flexes, demanding taste tests. Vera handled the stove, flipping pancakes as Eira built a tower of sliced fruit that she insisted was “architectural.”At one point, Eira accidentally squirted too much whipped cream onto a plate and gasped like she’d broken a sacred rule.“It’s fine,” Vera giggled, wiping it off. “We’ll just say Daddy did it.”They set the table together, three plates, napkins slightly wrinkled, Eira’s hand drawn place cards in crayon declaring: MOM, ME, and THE BOSS (aka DAD).When everything was done, Vera stepped back and admired their wor
The night air clung to her skin like dew, cool and sharp, but Vera didn’t flinch. Her eyes were still glassy, lashes damp with grief, but her breathing had begun to settle.Asher hadn’t let go of her hand.He sat beside her in silence, their fingers intertwined on her knee, anchoring her to the moment, to something that wasn’t loss.“I feel like a stranger to my own story,” she whispered, her voice thinned by tears. “Everything I thought I knew… it’s been rewritten. Dorian didn’t help me out of some selfless kindness. He did it because she asked him to.”“And maybe,” Asher said softly, “he kept helping because he wanted to.”She looked at him then, eyes searching. As much as her heart was in pieces, a small part of her latched onto that.Maybe it could be both. Maybe love and duty had coexisted.“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” she admitted, the words falling out in a quiet confession, nearly drowned in the chirping crickets and distant wind. “But I also don’t want to talk anymore.