Chapter 9
Avants they it can ling the lattom of the display. Best Local Business‘ three years running. Community Service Award” for the free oil thanars they gave to single mothers Newspaper clippings about their business, yellowed with age but carefully preserved behind glass.
Memorise All of it, memortes preserved like Treasures in a museum dedicated to the life I walked away from.
We eaved everviling, Tristan save quietly, and when I turn to look at him, his expression is gentle but watchful. “Every photo, every award, every memory. We thought we thought maybe someday you’d want to see them.”
I can’t speak. The words are there, trapped behind the lump in my throat, but they won’t come out. I just stand there, staring at the svidence of who I used to be, of the family I left behind, of the parents whose memory t failed to honor when I ran away to London and tried to become someone else.
“Athena, Tristan says, and something in his voice, makes me turn around.
He’s standing behind a large desk, his hand resting on something that makes my heart stop completely. A nameplate. Clean and professional, the letters etched in gold against black marble.
Managing Director, Athena Slade.
My breath catches. The room seems to tilt around me, and I have to grip the back of a chair to keep from swaying. “What is this?” T whisper, my voice barely audible.
Tristan’s expression is gentle but serious, his dark eyes holding mine steadily. “It’s yours. It always has been.”
I stare at the nameplate, at the desk, at the office that’s clearly been waiting for me. The chair is leather, worn soft in all the right places: The desktop is organized but not sterile, with a few personal touches–a small plant in a ceramic pot, a pen holder that looks handmade, a leather portfolio with my initials embossed in the corner.
“I don’t understand,” I say, even though I’m starting to. Even though the pieces are clicking together in my mind like parts of an engine
finally falling into place.
“I think Orion would be the best to explain the situation,” Tristan says carefully, and I can hear the weight of unspoken words in
voice.
I just stand there, rooted to the ground, different emotions and thoughts crashing through me like waves against a rocky
I feel a sting in my heart, sharp and sweet and terrible all at once. I have a family. I’ve always had a family all this time. While
London begging for scraps of affection from someone who saw me as a pretty thing to keep around, Orion and Tristan were here, Milng something, waiting for me to come home.
Daxon never loved me. I can see that now with painful clarity. He never saw me as family, never saw me as thÊNG,
accessory to his successful life. But here, in this office with my name on the door, I can feel the love that wex
18:24 Fri, Jan 2 d…
Chapter 9
that preserved every memory. The hope that kept this space waiting for me.
“Athena?” Tristan’s voice is gentle, concerned.
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I reach up to touch my cheek and my fingers come away wet. I’ve been crying without even realizing it, tears streaming down my face as five years of buried grief and longing finally break free.
Tristan pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and holds it out to me. I stare at it for a moment, then at him, before taking it carefully. Our fingers don’t touch, I’m not ready for that kind of contact yet, but the gesture is so kind, so perfectly Tristan, that it makes me cry harder.
I walk to the chair. My chair. And sink into it, trying to process what I’m seeing. What I’m feeling. This desk, this office, this nameplate… it’s mine. With no strings attached. No Daxon to tell me how to dress, when to smile, what to say. No one to control my every move and
then act like they’re doing me a favor.
I could work as I please. I could be myself. The thought is so foreign, so terrifying and exhilarating at the same time, that I don’t know
what to do with it.
Tristan’s phone rings, cutting through the heavy silence. He glances at it, then at me. “I should take this,” he says apologetically. “I’ll be
right back.”
I nod, not trusting my voice, and he steps out into the hallway. The moment he’s gone, my own phone buzzes against my hip. Orion’s name lights up the screen, and I stare at it for a long moment before answering.
He’s been avoiding my calls since he sent Tristan to pick me up instead of coming himself. Our communication has been reduced to brief text messages….. “How are you feeling?” “Do you need anything?” “Tristan will be take care of whatever you need.” The messages too
plain.
“How do you like your office?” His voice comes through the phone warm and familiar, and I can hear the carefully contained hope in it. “Anything you want to change? You can tell me or Tristan and we’ll change it immediately.”
My heart swells. I’ve missed Orion so much it’s like a physical ache. He’s the only family I have left, the only person who knew me before I became Daxon’s polished, broken doll. Despite everything, despite the time and distance and all the words we haven’t said, he’s still my
brother.
“Chill, bro, I say with a shaky laugh, and I can hear his sharp intake of breath at the old nickname. “I like my office a lot. It’s just as I
love it.”
And it’s the truth. The chair, the desktop, the photos, the interior design–it’s all exactly how I would have done it myself if I’d had the chance. It’s like they reached inside my head and pulled out my deepest desires, then made them real.
“When was all this done?” I ask, my voice breaking with unspoken emotions. When did you do this? When did you decide I was worth waiting for?
There’s a pause, and I can almost hear Orion choosing his words carefully. “Three years ago,” he says finally.
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18:24 Fri, Jan 2
Chapter 9
The words hit me like a physical blow. “What?”
2
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2 Comments >
What happened to their names? The ex name was Daxon and her last name was Morrison?? Now it’s Dixon and Slade …..
7 days ago
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
