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CHAPTER 91
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2025-02-17 00:00:39Nathan POV:
Another shot of whiskey, neat.
The bartender, a burly man with eyes that had seen too much and judged nothing, slid the glass across the polished mahogany bar, his movements practiced, efficient, devoid of any warmth or sympathy.
Good. Sympathy was the last thing I needed. Pity was poison.
All I needed was the burn of the whiskey, the numbing oblivion it offered, a temporary escape from the relentless torment of my thoughts, the gnawing emptiness that had become my constant companion.
Days had bled into weeks since I’d sent the letter to Agatha, a desperate, pathetic plea for forgiveness, for another chance, for a lifeline in the drowning sea of my despair.
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Agatha POV:“Ms. De Rossi?”That deeper voice again, Detective Miller, like gravel rolling downhill. It cut through the office air, making Camille flinch beside me. I forced a smile, plastered and fake, and turned to face them.“Detectives,” I said, cool as I could manage, nodding towards the plush chairs. “Please, come in. Have a seat.”They didn’t move, just stood there, blocking the doorway, Detective Davies’s eyes flicking around my office like he expected Nathan to jump out of the potted plant.“We’re fine standing, Ms. De Rossi,” Miller said, his voice polite but firm. “Just a few questions, if you don’t mind.”Mind? My heart was doing a tango in my chest, but I kept my face smooth. “Of course. Anything to help find Nathan.” Lie. The word tasted like ash in my mouth, but it was necessary.“We understand you saw Mr. Richards rece
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Charles POV:“Agatha,”I murmured, my voice a soft caress, my hand gently cupping her cheek, my thumb brushing away a stray tear that glistened on her lashes.“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”Her eyes, usually so bright and full of fire, were shadowed, clouded with a worry that twisted my gut. She was pale, her shoulders slumped, her whole body radiating a weariness that went beyond mere exhaustion.“Detectives,” she whispered, the word barely audible, a shudder running through her.“They were here, Charles. Asking questions. About Nathan.”My jaw clenched. Richards. Even
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Agatha POV:"Agatha, the Q3 projections are finalized. Do you want the good news or the bad news first?"Sarah's voice, usually bright and chipper, was flat, strained. It was enough to make my already pounding headache even worse.I rubbed my temples, trying to ease the tension that had taken up permanent residence there. "Just give it to me straight, Sarah. No sugarcoating.""Right. Well, the good news is, we're still afloat," she said, her voice a little hesitant, like she was trying to find a silver lining in a very dark cloud. "The Campbell partnership staunched the bleeding, at least for now.""And the bad news?" I asked, my voice a weary sigh, already bracing myself for the next blow."The bad news is… everything else," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, as if the walls themselves had ears. "Profits are down, investor confidence is shaky, and the board… well, let's just say they're not thrilled with the current… situation.""The current situation being me, you mean," I
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Agatha POV:"...so if we shift the Q4 projections for the micro-optics division slightly, it buys us breathing room with the Tanaka investment without raising immediate red flags for the rest of the board." Charles tapped a pen against the polished surface of my desk – Dad’s desk – his brow furrowed in concentration. He’d shown up unannounced an hour ago, ostensibly to discuss NexGen strategy, though his presence always felt like more than just business these days. Ever since the hospital, since Dad started recovering… things between Charles and me were… complicated. Strained. He acted like everything was fine, like our brief intimacy had sealed something permanent, but I kept pulling back, needing space he seemed unwilling to grant."It's aggressive, Charles," I countered, leaning back in my chair, trying to focus on the figures he’d laid out, not on the way his knee occasionally brushed mine under the desk. "Moving those projections relies heavily on the successful rollout of Pha
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Agatha POV:The spoon felt unnaturally heavy in my hand, the mint chocolate chip ice cream cloyingly sweet on my tongue.Usually, it was my comfort food, my go-to indulgence after a stressful day. Tonight, each spoonful felt like swallowing lead.Across the low coffee table in my living room – Dad’s living room, technically, though I’d started thinking of the mansion as mine these days – Charles beamed, digging into his own bowl with gusto.He’d arrived exactly an hour after my text, a pint of the most expensive artisanal mint chip available clutched in one hand and a bouquet of pale pink roses, my favorites, in the other. The perfect picture of the doting, attentive partner.My skin prickled.
