CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE —
NATHANIEL
I walked into my building and sighed, the weight of my own success pressing down on me like a chain I couldn't shake. God knows I didn't want to be here today. The walls of this empire, these polished floors and mirrored elevators, were mine — every inch of them a product of my vision, my sweat, my stubbornness. Yet, for all I owned, I still couldn't claim what my heart wanted most.
It's strange, owning everything yet feeling like nothing belongs to you. I had the world, but not peace. I had power, but not joy. I had women, but not her.
I told myself it was about desire — that simple, physical pull I couldn't shake — but lately I'd started to realize it wasn't that at all. It wasn't the body I missed. It was the person. The soul that came with the voice that could undo me in a heartbeat. Caroline.
This last weekend, in my desperate attempt to silence the ghosts she left behind, I did something that made me sick to admit. I paid for company — something I'd never imagined myself doing. She was beautiful, untouched, and I thought maybe the newness would light something in me again. But it didn't. The moment was mechanical, hollow. It left me emptier than before.
There was no spark, no madness, no ache of connection. Nothing. Just silence afterward, and disgust with myself. I sent her away before morning.
That night, I sat in the dark, replaying my conversation with Matt — my best friend, my brother in everything but blood — the one who knew the truth I refused to face.
"Man," he'd said, his voice calm, cutting through my excuses, "I told you from the day that girl disgraced you — forgive her. We both knew her friend forced her to say those words, but you refused. You turned her into something she wasn't. You worshiped her from a distance, watched her every move like she was some goddess. You built a shrine to your pain and called it love. You made her your idol."
I'd laughed then, bitterly. But now, the words came back, sharp as glass.
Had I really made her a god in my heart? Maybe. Because even now, after all these years, her shadow still ruled me. My decisions, my moods, my very pulse — they all bent toward her name.
I dragged a hand through my hair and muttered, "God, I've made a mess of everything."
The lobby was quiet when I arrived, the hum of air conditioning blending with the soft echo of my footsteps. The receptionist, Mrs. Comfort, greeted me with her usual practiced smile. I barely saw her. My eyes caught movement — a woman standing by the far desk, her back to me. Something about the way she stood… the slope of her shoulders… it hit me like a punch.
No. It couldn't be.
"Pathetic," I whispered under my breath. "Now I see her everywhere."
Still, my feet moved before reason could stop them. Something inside me — maybe hope, maybe madness — pushed me forward.
She turned slightly to the right. My breath caught.
It was her.
For a moment, time stopped. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought it might burst. I froze where I was, trying to steady myself, trying not to show what was happening inside me.
"Sorry… there he comes, dear," Mrs. Comfort said softly to the woman, her voice a blur behind the rush of blood in my ears.
Caroline didn't turn.
Every part of me screamed to rush forward, but I forced myself to move slowly. I needed to think. I needed to remember who I was — not the man who once fell to his knees for her, but the man who built an empire while his heart bled.
I stopped beside her. "Caroline," I said, keeping my voice as even as I could. "To what do I owe this meeting?"
She looked up, her eyes locking on mine — calm, unreadable. For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
I turned to Mrs. Comfort. "Has she been waiting long?"
"No, sir," she replied. "She just arrived."
"Good." I nodded, forcing control back into my tone. "If you're here to see me," I said to Caroline, "then come with me."
I didn't wait for an answer. I couldn't. One more second standing there, and I would have lost all composure.
In the elevator, silence filled the space between us like fog. I could smell her perfume — faint, familiar, maddening. She didn't look at me once, and I didn't trust myself to look at her too long either. I tried to guess her reason for coming. Was she here to apologize? To ask for help? To say goodbye again? Or worse — was she here for money?
The thought stung. And yet, even if that was true, I knew I'd give it. Anything, just to keep her here a little longer.
When the elevator doors opened to my private floor, I led her out into the corridor. This was the part of the building reserved for my most exclusive meetings — clients, investors, partners I needed to impress. I rarely came here anymore. But for her, suddenly, I wanted perfection.
The office lights came on automatically, bathing everything in soft gold. She walked ahead of me, her eyes scanning the room — the tall glass windows, the city skyline stretching behind them, the carefully chosen paintings, the dark mahogany desk.
And for some reason, watching her look at my world made something twist in my chest. I'd built all this to prove I didn't need her. But standing there, I realized none of it ever filled the space she left.
"If you're done checking out my office," I said finally, forcing a hint of sarcasm to mask the tremor in my voice, "maybe you can tell me why you're here."
Her face hardened instantly. Anger flickered across her features, and I had no idea why.
"I'm sorry to—" she began.
"Please," I cut in, my tone sharper than I intended. "Spare me the apology. Just tell me why you're here."
She exhaled shakily, trying to keep calm. "I'm pregnant," she said at last, and before I could react, she added, "and before you start—"
I laughed. I couldn't help it. It wasn't mockery — it was shock, disbelief, joy all tangled together. Pregnant. My mind spun.
She was pregnant.
My body felt like it was on fire and ice all at once. She was carrying my child. The idea filled me with something close to peace — a wild, trembling peace I hadn't felt in years. But she couldn't know that. Not yet.
If she knew, she'd have power over me again.
I forced myself to think clearly. I needed confirmation. Proof. Logic. Control.
I picked up my phone and called Dr. Nicolas — my company's in-house physician. "Meet me in my office now," I said. "You have five minutes."
Then I cut the call and began pacing the floor, my mind racing with possibilities.
What if it wasn't mine? What if she was here to manipulate me again? But she wouldn't… would she? Caroline was many things, but she wasn't cruel.
I stopped pacing and looked at her. She looked pale, tired — like she hadn't eaten or slept properly. My instincts screamed to take care of her, to feed her, to shield her from everything that could possibly hurt her.
"See, Nat," she said softly, interrupting my thoughts.
The way she said my name — it hit me right in the chest.
"I didn't come here to ask you for anything," she said. "I just thought..."
Her voice trembled slightly, but her words were steady.
"Will you just sit down and stop talking?" I snapped, louder than I meant to. "Please, just— stop interrupting me."
Her eyes widened, anger flashing through them. "You don't get to raise your voice at me," she shot back. "You have no right. I came here out of courtesy, not weakness."
I stared at her — really stared — and in that moment, she was everything she'd ever been: fierce, proud, heartbreakingly beautiful.
And I realized I'd lost this battle long before it began.
Before I knew it, I moved — fast, without thinking. My hands reached for her, pulling her closer. My mouth found hers.
It wasn't planned. It wasn't controlled. It was instinct.
The first touch was desperate — a question, a confession, a surrender. She stiffened at first, but then something shifted. Her shoulders softened, a faint sound escaped her lips, and she kissed me back.
The world fell away.
I felt her heart beating against mine, felt the air thicken between us. Every broken piece of me reached for her, every scar I'd ever carried seemed to fade in that moment.
And that's when I knew — this wasn't obsession anymore. It wasn't revenge. It wasn't longing. It was love.
Raw, frightening, undeniable love.
I pulled away slowly, breathless, afraid to look at her face. If I did, I might lose control again.
Without a word, I guided her gently to the leather chair near the window. She sat, confusion clouding her expression.
I straightened up, swallowed hard, and walked out — every step echoing with the words burning in my mind:
I love her.
Over and over, like a prayer I couldn't silence.