The price of regret

‎For five years, the Vance mansion felt less like an empire and more like an empty room nobody wanted to be in.

‎Ethan Vance sat in his dimly lit office on the top floor of the Vance Group skyscraper, a glass of scotch resting untouched on the desk. He stared out at the city skyline and saw nothing. His face had forgotten how to feel anything. The grey strands of hair growing out was the visible sign of what was eating him alive.

‎Five years ago the truth had shattered him. And the moment he found that crumpled pregnancy test in Rosalie's drawer he had torn the world apart in hope of making amends for his mistakes.

‎He had spared no one. The morning after Rosalie vanished he stripped Eleanor of every card, every asset, every luxury tied to the Vance name and moved her to a modest apartment on the outskirts of the city, far from the circles she valued more than people. Chloe met a harsher fate. He exposed her scheme publicly, blacklisted her family from the business world and left her buried in legal battles that drained her completely. They had wanted to push Rosalie into the gutter. He made sure they landed there instead.

‎None of it brought her back.

‎Two years into his isolation his grandfather, Elder Harrison Vance, woke from his coma. But the old man's return brought no comfort. When Harrison learned what had been done to Rosalie he went silent. He refused to speak to Ethan, turned his back whenever he entered the room and moved to a private estate, cutting his grandson off entirely. He was the only man Ethan had ever respected and now he was gone too.

‎Every hour of the past five years had been consumed by one thing finding Rosalie. He had poured millions into private intelligence, hired the best trackers available and chased hundreds of dead ends. But whoever was shielding her had a network that matched his own.

‎That protector was Christopher Sterling the silver haired man from the manor. Years before she met Ethan, Rosalie had stopped on a busy street when no one else did. A man was being spoken down to, dismissed in public while everyone walked past. She stepped in without thinking twice, said what needed to be said and kept walking. She never asked who he was. Christopher never forgot what she did. When she climbed into his car on that bridge he kept his word a new identity, protection and the means to build something of her own.

‎She had disappeared like a ghost, leaving Ethan to rot in a prison of his own making. She was called a parasite yet he was the one who couldn't function without her. He had handed her divorce papers but because she never signed them he remained legally bound to a woman who had erased him completely.

‎A knock broke the silence. His investigator Mark stepped in holding a folder.

‎"Sir." Mark kept his voice careful. He knew what this subject did to his boss. "We caught a trace. A high end art and tech gallery in the coastal capital just launched an exclusive showcase. The parent company traces back to the Sterling network. And we have a photograph from the opening."

‎Ethan said nothing. He took the folder, his hands not entirely steady. He pulled out the photograph.

‎His breath stopped.

‎Rosalie stood in the center of a gallery room in an emerald green gown, her hair down, her posture carrying an authority she had never been allowed to show in his house. She was smiling. Her eyes were bright. She looked like a woman who had won.

‎And she looked like she had never needed Ethan Vance a single day in her life.

‎But it wasn't just her. Standing beside her holding her hand was a little boy. Around four years old, sharp little suit, Rosalie's lips and everything else unmistakably Ethan's.

‎His thumb moved across the child's face in the photograph. His throat closed.

‎"Prepare the jet," he said. His voice was raw. "Now."

‎The coastal air was warm. The gallery was full investors, soft music, glass ceilings letting in the light. Ethan walked through the doors and the room noticed. He didn't mind though his goal was focused on one thing. His eyes moved through the crowd until something stopped him.

‎A small tug at the bottom of his jacket.

‎He looked down.

‎The boy from the photograph looked straight back up at him. Same eyes, same jaw. Completely unbothered by the size of the man he had just stopped.

‎"You're blocking the way to the main display Mr," the boy said. He tilted his head. "And you're staring. My mommy says that's impolite."

‎Ethan dropped to his knees on the marble floor. He didn't care who was watching.

‎"What's your name?" he managed.

‎"Leo," the boy said, crossing his arms. "Leo Vance Sterling. I'm in charge today he smiled confidently." He said it like it was obvious.

‎Rosalie had kept his name. Added Sterling beside it his birthright and the man who had given them both a future, side by side.

‎Before Ethan could find words a voice came from behind him.

‎"Leo, sweetheart, I told you not to wander near the tech booth without"

‎she stopped.

‎Ethan stood and turned around.

‎Rosalie stood a few feet away, her hand over her chest. For just a moment something unguarded crossed her face. Then it was gone, replaced by a composure she had spent five years building.

‎"Leo." Her voice was steady. "Go find Uncle Christopher at the front desk. Tell him to take you for ice cream."

‎"Okay!" Leo threw one last look at Ethan and ran off.

‎They stood facing each other. Ethan's chest heaved. Rosalie didn't move.

‎"Rosalie," he said. Her name came out like something he had been holding for years. He stepped forward. "I found you. I know everything what my mother did, what Chloe did. I heard them that night. I threw them out. They have nothing."

‎Rosalie tilted her head slightly. "And why should that matter to me?"

‎Her voice was calm. Completely calm. Hatred would have meant she still felt something. There was nothing there. Just distance.

‎"I was a fool," Ethan said. A tear broke free. He didn't stop it. Five years had done what nothing else could. It had humbled him completely. "I chose pride over you. I let my mother strike you while you were carrying our son. I have lived in hell every day you've been gone. Let me fix it. Let me be a father to Leo. Let me be your husband again. Everything I have is yours."

‎Rosalie looked at him quietly.

‎"I am home, Ethan," she said, gesturing to the gallery around her. "I left that hospital with nothing but the clothes on my back and a child I hadn't told anyone about. I built this. Myself." She stepped closer, her eyes steady on his. "You want to be Leo's father we are still legally married so I won't deny you that. My lawyers will arrange visitation and a proper divorce agreement. But as for me?"

‎She raised her left hand. Bare. No ring.

‎"The woman who loved you is gone. You said our marriage was a farce. I believed you."

‎He had won everything that didn't matter. He stood there with his empire and his name and nothing else.

‎The tap of a cane on marble turned both their heads. From the VIP entrance an elderly man was being wheeled in. Harrison Vance. He had found the gallery through his own network and come without a word to anyone.

‎"Grandfather," Ethan said, his voice catching.

‎Harrison looked past him entirely. His eyes found Rosalie and his whole face changed.

‎"My dear," he said softly, reaching for her hand.

‎Then Leo came running back, ice cream in hand, and stopped when he saw the old man. He studied him the way he had studied Ethan carefully, without fear.

‎"Are you the Man from Mommy's photo album? The one she told me to always pray for?"

‎Harrison's eyes filled. He looked at Rosalie. She gave a small nod. He pulled the boy into his arms and held him.

‎Ethan watched his grandfather hold his son and felt something crack open in his chest that he had no word for.

‎"I will never stop trying," he said quietly, looking at Rosalie. "However long it takes."

‎Rosalie looked at him one final time, a soft unreadable smile on her lips.

‎"Then prepare yourself for more than you have left to give, Mr. Vance."

‎She took Leo's hand, walked with Harrison toward the VIP lounge and didn't look back.

‎Ethan stood alone in the center of the room.

‎He had built an empire and lost the only thing that mattered. Around him the gallery hummed on. Investors talked. Music played. Nobody noticed the most powerful man in the room standing completely still, holding nothing but the weight of everything he had thrown away.

‎