“I’m just like him,” I choked out finally, the words barely audible. “My dad. Standing there doing nothing while everything I love gets ripped away.” I knew deep, deep down that was irrational. My father couldn’t have done anything in that moment. I knew it, but I wanted the hurt, the anger, the soul-crushing self loathing to eat me alive.
“Henry, stop.”
But I couldn’t. The memories and the guilt were tangled together, one choking the other.
“I promised myself I’d never let anyone in again,” I whispered, staring at my shaking hands. “And the second I do… she almost dies.”
Jas pulled me into her chest and let me fall apart. I cried until my body gave up. Until the world faded into black.
Now I’m sitting at my desk, staring at blueprints that mean nothing. My reflection in the glass of the office window looks hollow — dark circles under my eyes, bruises still yellowing along my jaw.
“Henry, the meeting is ready to start,” Natalie says, poking her head around the door.
I nod once. She gives me that careful, worried half-smile before quietly shutting it again.
I told the people who needed to know about the crash. I couldn’t really hide the cuts and bruises. I could’ve lied about Matilda — said she was sick, or visiting family — but I didn’t have the strength to pretend.
So I told a few people she’d been with me. Of course, that came with looks, questions no one dared ask. Why would my assistant be in a car with me halfway up the country unless there was something between us?
They didn’t know the truth — not all of it. And they didn’t ask. Perks of being the boss, I guess.
What they also didn’t know was that I’d left her behind because I was too afraid. Too fucking afraid that history was repeating itself — that I’d lose her like I lost my mother.
Now I’m a ghost, haunting my own company. Attending meetings. Making coffee. Pretending to care. Every corridor, every desk, every stupid post-it note screams her name. Her pink mug still sits on her desk like she’s just stepped away for a minute.
But she’s not here.
I walk into meeting room six, tugging my shirt cuffs down tohide the tremor in my hands.
“Good morning, everyone,” I say, my voice steady — or at least convincing enough.
A few glance at me with wide eyes, likely shocked by my battered face. They say nothing.
“Let’s get started. Natalie, why don’t you walk us through the residential portfolio first?”
She nods and begins her report, and I try to focus. I really do. But her voice fades in and out like a broken signal, and I’m somewhere else again — sirens, glass, rain, Matilda’s scream—
“Excellent,” I manage when Natalie finishes. “Well done. Keep it up.”
Then Bradley, my lead supervisor, speaks up.
“Sorry to interrupt, but do we have any update on the new architect position? Has the role been filled yet?”
My chest tightens. Fuck. I’d forgotten completely.
Natalie looks at me, hesitation flickering in her eyes before she answers. “We’re still reviewing applicants. Nothing’s been finalised.”
I can tell she’s stalling. Everyone else in the room thinks it’s admin delay. I know it’s because of Matilda.
My grip on the desk tightens until my knuckles turn white. The room tilts slightly, a faint ringing building in my ears.
Not now. Not in front of them.
Then — a sudden commotion outside the meeting room. Raised voices. A sharp knock.
“Miss, you can’t— please, he’s in a meeting—”
The door slams open.
