27

Richard sat in the center of the darkness, a glass of neat bourbon forgotten in his hand, he had been inside the library, amid the computers, for hours.

He wasn't looking at stock tickers or merger agreements. He was watching the loop—the morning footage from the morning Giselle vanished.

He watched her walk to the gate. He watched the way the wind caught her hair in waves. He watched the tremor in her hands as she hailed a car.

A knock at the door broke his trance. Chase stepped in, looking far too confident for a man whose life was unraveling.

Behind him stood Monica, dressed in a red dress that was three sizes too small for the occasion.

"Dad, you’ve been cooped up in here for three days," Chase said, his voice echoing off walls of the library.

"The board is calling to know about your wellbeinh. That’s one would wonder if you suffered a stroke because you missed the Sterling briefing. I told them you were just...."

Richard didn't turn around. "Leave here, Chase."

"I brought Monica," Chase continued, ignoring the frost in the room. "She’s going to stay for a few days. Since the master suite is sitting empty and the house feels like a morgue, I figured I could use some life around here to stay sane. Monica, say hello to my dad, you have always wanted t."

"It’s an honor, Mr. Hemingway," Monica purred, stepping forward.

Richard slowly swiveled his chair. His eyes were bloodshot red, his face held a cold, terrifying stillness that sent shivers down her spin. He looked at Monica as if she were a smudge of dirt on an expensive rug.

"Get out of my face," Richard said.

Monica’s smile faltered. Chase scoffed, "Come on, Dad. Don't be like that. Giselle is gone. She made her choice. She ran away. Isn’t that enough answer. Monica is here to fill the—"

"I said get out!" Richard roared, slamming his glass onto the desk.

The bourbon splashed over the table, but he didn't blink. He stood up, his presence filling the room and the air almost thinning out. "Chase, you have exactly sixty seconds to get this trash out of my house before I have security drag her out by her hair."

"Trash?" Monica gasped, her face flushing. "Chase, are you going to let him—"

"Dad, you're being hysterical! And crossing the line!!" Chase yelled, stepping in front of her. "It’s my house too! I’m the heir!"

"You are a tenant by my grace!" Richard hissed, rounding the desk.

He stepped into Chase’s personal space, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper, gritting is teeth like he’s chewing his words. "You bring this woman into this house while your wife’s scent is still in this house? While her clothes are still in your room? While her presence is the only thing keeping this family from total ruin?"

"Oh you give that bitch too much importance. Why did you not just marry her instead. Giselle is a coward who ran away!" Chase spat.

"Giselle is the woman you broke," Richard countered, his eyes flashing. "And if you think for one second I will allow you to parade this... this cheap replacement around the grace of this house, you are more deluded than I thought. If you bring that trash into this house again, Chase, I will disown you before she hits the curb. I will strip you of your name, your trust, and your dignity. Try me and see."

Chase stepped back, the color draining from his face. He saw the madness in his father’s eyes—a protective, obsessive madness that went far beyond "family values."

"Fine," Chase muttered, grabbing Monica’s arm. "We’re leaving. You’re losing it, Dad. You’re obsessed with a woman who doesn't even know you."

"Get out!" Richard bellowed.

As they scurried out, Richard collapsed back into his chair. He stared at the monitor. He hit play again.

"I'm not losing it, Chase," he whispered to the screen. "I'm just finally seeing what you were too stupid to keep."

Chase returned exactly ten minutes later, alone this time, his face twisted in absolute rebellion. He stood in the doorway, watching his father stare at the security footage.

"You're watching her again," Chase said, his voice flat. "It’s pathetic. She’s gone, Dad. She’s probably moved on right now, laughing and doing things women do with her friends, I need you to understand Giselle is not as helpless as she presents."

"I dont know why hearing you speak lately just irritates me lately, you sound stupid more and even more ," Richard said without looking up. "You traumatized that woman, leaving her terrified. And she’s right to be. She’s out there with nothing because you were too busy chasing cheap thrills to notice you had a queen."

"A queen? I beg to differ, what queenly qualities does she have? I lived with her for three years! She’s painfully boring, Dad. It was suffocating!"

Richard finally looked at him. "You still have not given me a valid reason why you want to divorce her? Your call your marriage to her boring and suffocating. Did you not see all that before marrying her? That she has endured your misgivings all these while is what I call undeserved loyalty. Something you wouldn't recognize if it hit you in the face. Tell me, Chase, did you ever once look at her? Truly look at her?"

"I married her, didn't I?"

"You occupied her," Richard corrected. "You didn't even incorporate her into the family business or anything. You didn't see the strength. If you loose that woman you are going to regret it."

"And what do you see?" Chase challenged, taking a step into the room. "Why are you so obsessed? Why is the great Richard Hemingway skipping board meetings to find my miserable ex wife"

Richard turned his chair fully toward his son. The blue light of the monitors made his eyes look like ice. "I see a mistake. Mine and yours. And I intend to fix it."

"You can't fix a marriage that’s dead."

"I’m not trying to fix your marriage, Chase," Richard said, a dark smile playing on his lips. "I’m trying to ensure that when she comes back—and she will—she belongs to a man who knows her value."

Chase froze. "What is that supposed to mean? You know you can’t force her on me right?"

"It means you should go to your room," Richard said, turning back to his screens. "And stay there. I have work to do."

"You're going crazy daddy," Chase whispered, backing away.

"I'm a Hemingway," Richard replied. "We don't lose. Get the fuck out of my face please. I have got work to do."