WebNovels

Chapter 26 - 26

Back at the hotel, the night had surged into full celebration. Music filled the ballroom as a DJ spun tracks over the sound of champagne flutes clinking and guests laughing freely.

An eight-tiered cake, gilded with gold leaf and laced in sugar flowers, rolled into the center of the dance floor. Fireworks exploded just beyond the glass walls, painting the sky with streaks of silver and violet.

Mr. and Mrs. Charley stood proudly beside their son, watching him with the girl on his arm, their faces lit with the quiet joy of a night well-planned, a life well-lived.

Cameras flashed. Champagne flowed. The night crescendoed in glitter and glamour, a memory being etched into every guest's mind.

But outside? far from the crystal chandeliers and curated laughter, Clinton sat in his car, staring at the girl who he never knew he truly wanted.

**********

Samuel stepped into the hospital room and froze.

The machines were gone. No beeping, no monitors, just stillness. His father lay motionless beneath a white sheet, and in the quiet, Samuel could almost hear the moment his heart broke.

He took a step backward, breath catching. The chill in the air crept into his bones. His hands trembled.

It wasn't a dream.

Georgia's voice echoed in his mind, frantic, splintered: He's gone, Sam. He's really gone. She'd called him minutes earlier, choking on sobs, struggling to explain how everything had changed in the span of a heartbeat. Their father, Flores Nickel Boron, oil tycoon, empire builder, myth, was dead. Her wedding would be postponed. Her fiancé was flying in from Dubai. Nothing made sense.

Samuel hadn't waited. He'd bolted from his room in a haze, ignoring the family doctor's soft condolences as he rushed down the corridor. In his head, he'd clung to the possibility of a mistake. Some error. A miracle. But now, standing at the threshold, reality pressed in.

He couldn't move. Couldn't cross the room.

His father, the man who once handed him car keys on his twelfth birthday with a quiet smile and the words you're going to do great things, son, lay still, unreachable. Samuel hadn't visited during the coma. He'd made excuses. Stayed away. Guilt pooled in his chest, thick and suffocating.

A hand settled gently on his shoulder.

He didn't need to turn. It was his mother.

"I can't believe it either," she whispered. Her voice was hoarse, stripped bare. "Oh, my God."

Bonnie stepped forward, her eyes red, her dress wrinkled from hours spent at the hospital. She crossed the room and sat beside her husband's body, brushing her fingers across his arm. Her lips moved in prayer. Her shoulders began to shake.

Samuel couldn't bear to watch. And yet, he couldn't look away.

She pressed her forehead to her husband's chest, her cries rising like a wave breaking. Through her tears, she spoke to him. "You said... we'd go on that vacation. The five of us. Remember? The holidays. You promised."

Her grief cracked something open in him. He moved closer, uncertain, and touched her shoulder.

She grabbed his hand tightly, clutching it as though it anchored her to the world. Her voice dropped, but her words cut deep.

"The company is yours now," she murmured, wiping her eyes. "You'll need to finish your degree. The board's already watching. If you don't step in, we could lose everything."

Samuel stared at the floor. The weight of it all, grief, responsibility, regret, settled over him like a lead coat.

A sudden thud made them both flinch.

Georgia stood in the doorway, her ivory handbag on the floor. Her face was blotched red with tears, but she moved forward, slow and trembling, until she reached the bed.

"Daddy," she whispered, her fingers curling around his. "Don't leave me. Please."

Her sobs filled the room, rising and falling ..

Three doctors entered quietly, their expressions somber.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," the lead doctor said. "We'll need to move him soon."

Bonnie nodded faintly, barely hearing him. Georgia did.

"No," she said, her voice suddenly sharp. "You can't take him. Not yet."

Her eyes darted around the room, bewildered that no one else seemed ready to fight. How could they not feel this as she did?

Bonnie looked at her daughter with an ache that had no words. "What's done is done, Georgia."

Georgia recoiled as though struck. "How can you say that?"

The younger doctor shifted awkwardly. "We're very sorry," he repeated. His voice was soft, but it landed empty.

"I pay my respects," the family doctor said, bowing slightly. "He was a good man."

But Samuel barely heard any of it. He rose silently and left the room, the sound of Georgia's cries chasing him down the hallway.

———-

"Don't let him drive!" Georgia's voice cracked as she turned to her mother. "Please, Mum, stop him."

Bonnie was already moving, panic rising. She knew her son too well. His silence, his rage. She ran, hair undone, breath shallow with fear.

Outside, Samuel's car tore from the parking lot.

Bonnie's fingers fumbled at the ignition. "God, don't do this," she whispered, flooring the accelerator. Her car shot forward. The streets blurred. A truck passed too close. Her heart jumped.

Samuel's car was nowhere in sight.

She pressed harder, but doubt gnawed at her, what if calling distracted him? What if she was too late?

——

Samuel didn't know where he was going. He only knew he had to move. To escape the suffocating ache that was swelling inside his chest.

The engine roared as he pushed the car faster, the night air slicing through his open window. Tears blurred his vision. He wiped at them furiously.

Too late.

Too late to say what mattered. Too late to take back the distance. Too late to be the son he should have been.

When he reached the country house, he slammed on the brakes, gravel skidding beneath the tires. He stormed inside, past memories and silence, collapsing onto the couch in the lounge.

Bonnie pulled into the driveway moments later, her hands still shaking. Relief washed through her when she saw his car in the garage.

Inside, she found him seated, slumped, his shoulders bent under invisible weight.

"Why would you drive like that?" she asked, voice cracking. "Do you want to hurt yourself?"

He looked up. Eyes glassy. Lips pressed tight.

Then he rose and walked away without a word.

She followed with her eyes only, watching his retreating form vanish up the stairs. Her hands came to rest on her waist. She turned toward the window. The moon looked down, indifferent.

———-

Upstairs, Samuel locked his door. He slid to the floor, back against the bed, and finally let the tears fall.

He reached for his phone. Notifications were flooding in, breaking news, tributes, headlines in bold.

Flores Nickel Boron, dead at sixty-one.

His breath caught. A photo of his father stared back at him, smiling, unaware of how close the end had been.

"I miss you," Samuel whispered. "I love you. I just... didn't know how to say it."

His phone buzzed.

Clinton calling.

———

Miranda looked up from her desk, startled.

Daniel stood in her office, hands in his pockets, looking like he belonged there, and didn't. Silence stretched between them.

She didn't rise. She pressed her fingers together to release the tension building in her hands. He hadn't called. Hadn't answered. Not once in the months since their night together. She'd convinced herself it meant nothing to him.

And now here he was.

"I didn't expect to see you again," she said, her voice measured. "At least, not after disappearing."

Daniel gave a quiet shrug, but his eyes didn't leave hers. "I was in the city. Thought I'd stop by."

Miranda returned her attention to the stack of files. "It's been more than a while, Daniel. More like months."

"You're not going to offer me a seat?"

"I didn't invite you in."

He smiled, the kind that had once made her forget common sense. She hated that it still made her stomach flip.

"I let myself in," he said. "I had help."

Miranda narrowed her eyes. "Mr. David."

Daniel didn't confirm it, just looked around her office like he was trying to memorize the shape of her life without him in it.

She exhaled. "Fine. Sit, if you must."

He did, folding into the chair with the ease of someone who had never been unwelcome anywhere.

"I'm surprised you found the time," she said. "Considering your silence."

His expression didn't change, but something in his gaze sharpened. "I wanted to see you."

"For what, exactly?" she asked, her voice cool. "To pick up where we left off? Or leave again once you're bored?"

Daniel leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "Miranda—"

"You left," she said. "Without a word. I was stupid enough to think it meant something."

The ache in her throat surprised her. She swallowed it down, straightening her posture. She'd worked too hard to be pulled off balance again.

His expression didn't change. He watched her quietly, almost tenderly, chin resting on his hand. "Let's go to lunch."

Her laugh was empty, incredulous. "Lunch? You think I'm hungry after all that?"

"It's noon," he said simply. "And I know you skipped breakfast."

She stiffened. "I didn't."

"What did you eat?"

She hesitated, then said, "Baked potatoes and eggs."

He gave a mock grimace. "You still eat that?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"You deserve something better." He paused, then added, "Something more."

She frowned. "More?"

"Me."

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