5. Nathan's Delusions

Nathan's Pov.

Nathan sat in his study and poured himself another glass of whiskey.

It was almost three in the morning. He had not gone to bed. He never went to bed when he was angry. He just sat in his chair and drank and told himself he was right.

Zara was being dramatic. She was always dramatic. That was the problem. She felt everything too much. She cried too easily. She took everything personally. He had told her a hundred times to grow a thicker skin. She never listened.

Six months to live. He took another drink. That was just like her. Just like her to drop something like that on him in the middle of the night and expect him to drop everything and hold her hand. He had a company to run. He had a mother who was already planning the surrogate contract. He had Chloe to think about.

He was not a monster. He was a realist.

He stared at the wall and replayed the argument. She had looked at him with those big eyes, the same eyes she had when they first met. The same eyes she had when Chloe was born. The same eyes she had when she said yes to his proposal.

He had loved her once. He still loved her, in his way.

He just did not have time for her.

He thought about his mother. Margaret had called him three times that day. She wanted the surrogate contract signed by Friday. She wanted a grandson. She wanted the Vance name to continue. She had been very clear about that. Zara had given him a daughter. A daughter was not enough. A daughter could not carry the name.

He did not agree with his mother on everything. But on this, she was right. He needed a son. He needed an heir. He needed to think about the future.

Ariel was willing. Ariel was healthy. Ariel was committed. She had been attending appointments for weeks. She had not complained once. She was professional about it. She understood what was at stake.

He did not love Ariel. Not the way he loved Zara. But he needed her. That was different. That was practical. Zara would understand eventually. She always did. She always came around. She always forgave him.

He finished his whiskey and set the glass down.

She would come home. She always came home. She had left before. Twice. Once after his mother insulted her at Thanksgiving. Once after he forgot their anniversary. Both times she had come back within a day. She had no money. She had no family. She had nowhere else to go.

She would be back by morning.

He would apologize tomorrow. He would tell her he was sorry. He would tell her he loved her. He would buy her flowers. She liked flowers. She liked roses. He would buy her roses and she would cry and forgive him and everything would go back to normal.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

He thought about the look on her face when he said he did not care if she was sick or dying. He had not meant it. Not really. He had just been tired. He had been frustrated. She had been pushing him and pushing him and he had snapped. That was all.

She would understand. She always understood.

He thought about Chloe. His daughter had grown cold. He knew that. He knew he should have done something. He knew he should have stepped in when his mother started treating Zara like a servant. He knew he should have said something when Chloe started mimicking her grandmother.

But he had not. Because silence was easier. Because silence was safer. Because if he did not say anything, he did not have to choose.

He had always been good at not choosing.

He thought about Zara's face again. The diagnosis paper. The way she held it like it was a weapon. He did not believe it. Not really. She looked fine. She looked healthy. She looked like she always looked. Tired. Sad. Invisible.

No. She was fine. She had to be fine. Because if she was not fine, then he would have to do something. And he did not know what to do.

So he would do nothing. He would wait. She would come home. He would apologize. And everything would go back to normal.

That was how it always worked.

He stood up and walked to the window. It was still raining. He could see the driveway. He could see her car. It was still there. She had not driven anywhere. She must have walked. That was stupid. It was raining. She would catch a cold.

He almost laughed.

She was so dramatic.

He turned away from the window and walked back to his desk. He had work to do. He always had work to do. He sat down and opened his laptop. He tried to focus on the merger. He tried to focus on the numbers. He tried to focus on anything other than the look on her face when he said he did not care.

He could not.

He closed the laptop. He poured another glass of whiskey. He told himself he would give her one more hour. Then he would call her. Then he would apologize. Then she would come home.

He drank the whiskey. He waited.

His phone rang.

He picked it up without looking at the screen. He assumed it was his mother. She sometimes called at odd hours when she could not sleep. He was ready to tell her that everything was fine. That Zara was fine. That the surrogate contract would be signed by Friday.

But it was not his mother.

"Mr. Vance?"

The voice was calm. Professional. Female.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"This is Mercy General Hospital. We have a patient here. She had your identification in her wallet. Her name is Zara Vance."

Nathan's blood went cold.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"She was in an accident, Mr. Vance. She was struck by a car."

He stood up. The chair fell over behind him. He did not notice.

"Is she alive?"

"She is in surgery. You need to come to the hospital immediately."

"I am on my way. What happened? Who hit her?"

There was a pause. A shuffle of papers.

"The driver is here. He is the one who called us. He is listed as the one who found her."

"Who is he?"

Another pause.

"His name is Sterling. Emmanuel Sterling."

Nathan froze.

"Sterling?"

The line went dead.