The rain hadn't stopped.
Callum Virell had no recollection of driving. All he could recall was the rumble of thunder, the grip of the steering wheel, and the heavy silence that enveloped him as he made his way through half the city with a single name on his mind.
Dahlia.
His tie hung undone against his chest, his jacket crinkled from anxious neglect, and his hair refused all attempts of order. Each passing second was twisting the veins of his heart.
He slammed the car door shut when he arrived at the Virell estate. He bypassed the grand main house entirely, heading toward the servants' wing nestled behind it. The old stone path was wet with rain, the ivy-covered side wall dimly lit by a single flickering lamp. Tucked beneath that light was the doorway to the quarters.
But she wasn't there.
He shouted her name with his voice trembling. He asked everyone he came across. His heart raced with every unanswered question. He went back and forth, desperation driving him as he searched for any sign that something would lead him to her.
But the only thing he found was a small envelope on a short, brown table. It sat there like a fortune already told that his future's gonna be hell.
He took a moment to read the words, allowing each sentence to resonate deeply within him. With the wish that the message could be changed, he revisited the text, eager to uncover any insights he might have overlooked. As he absorbed the reality, he suddenly felt his legs give way and sank against the floor by the bedframe.
---
"To my dearest Callum,
I'm sorry I couldn't say this in person.
You love me without asking for more, and I will treasure you for the rest of my life. But I've made my choice. My mother is dying. And we both knew that, at her age and with me not matching hers, it would be hard to have this chance again. And out of the thousand donors tested, Sera is the only one who matched her.
I had met her last night, and she has agreed to the transplant on one condition. And that is, you must marry her. And I, selfishly or not, am choosing my mother.
This is not your failure, Callum. All those years you had done everything to help me and my mother. This is a gift you gave me by building a world where I could choose, even if it's not the kind we dreamed of.
Please live happily.
Sincerely yours, Dahlia"
The letter slipped from his fingers. The room blurred around him. He braced his hands on the floor, struggling to hold back a sob, as if letting it out might destroy him. But it escaped anyway.
His anguish spilled in a choked sob escaping his lips, reverberating through like a mournful echo. Each breath shuddered as he struggled to contain the weight of his heartbreak.
Somewhere near the entrance, his father stood in shadow. He remained an unspoken witness to every shattered syllable. When the sound of his despair subsided to an aching silence, Callum rose on unsteady legs and left, and so did his father.
As he stepped inside their house, the halls suddenly felt haunted.
The servants, understanding the situation, chose to move with their greatest care. There was no longer laughter echoing from the upper rooms, and no distant hum of conversation drifted through the halls.
---
And just like that, morning had passed.
Callum stood before the towering gate of the Elion estate. He took a breath to steady himself.
Today would be pivotal. The decisions they will make within these walls could alter the course of his life deeper into hell or maybe a survival from it.
Unlike the Virell estate, which smelled of imported cigars and was filled with colors of nature and art, the Elion estate is a place where emotion doubts its existence. Everything is in line. Everything is in order.
Callum hadn't slept, but he managed to present himself with confidence.
His father stood beside him now. Though old, he could still allure in a dark gray suit. His phone tucked into one hand, silent but alert. Living up to his identity as a general in the field of numbers. Across from them, at the end of the Elion table, sat Commander Hadrian Elion, waving and smiling at Callum's father.
At his left, Seraphine was sitting. Her posture was perfect. The uniform coat was gone, replaced by a simple navy dress that did nothing to soften the severity of her presence. She did not look at Callum.
However, Callum glared at her.
The two heirs of power sat at the long table, separated by a polished taciturnity that felt more constricting than any vow.
"Three days," Hadrian Elion said, breaking the mood like a gunshot. "We will spare no cost. Security will be handled by my men. The rest, like press, contracts, and announcements, will fall under your father's domain."
Callum's father nodded once. "Very well."
On the opposite side of the table, Seraphine sat with her hands gracefully in her lap. Without veils or jewels to mask her emotions, her quietude conveyed it all.
Callum's father cleared his throat. He then slid a folder forward. "Prenuptial terms focusing on power delegation clauses. You'll both retain your separate assets, but your bodies should not..."
Callum didn't flinch, but a twisted tension surged within him.
However, he still signed.
So did she.
After discussing the details, Sera's father looked at him, then at her, and said, "Sera, we will be going to celebrate. As for the two of you, take this day to have your clothes tailored."
"Yes, father."
The old men stood. They could not hide their joyous grins, as the wedding would take place within seventy-two hours. Another friendship goal achieved for them. Along their way, they had already called every relative to invite them. Even the town elders were already informed.
Meanwhile, Sera and Callum spoke with their glare in battle. At last, Sera decided to speak first. "The family tailor will arrive in an hour. Shall we take a walk?"
Callum's gaze darkened, his voice low. "Can I just go home?"
Sera smiled and stood. Her steps echoed an authority, and like a spellbound man, he followed.
She led him down the corridor, her steps measured while Callum's steps prickled. The corridors seemed unusually empty of maids or butlers, only shadows stretching along the walls.
Sera suddenly turned, making him stop short. Her gaze was sharp, her words heavier. "Dahlia is in the family's military hospital… in the west city."
The revelation struck in. He closed the distance between them, his eyes burning, his hands trembling. "IS SHE SAFE? TELL ME... she isn't your prisoner."
Sera moved nearer, her breath brushing his ear, her tone a whisper edged with danger. "Last night, my men said Dahlia wept until dawn… alone in the hospital's comfort room."
Callum's stomach tightened. His mind raced with images of Dahlia's, the sterile walls of a hospital, the sound of her sobs echoing in the dark. He wanted to plead for pity, but before he could speak, Sera pressed a kiss to his forehead.
Shock coursed through him, causing him to wince. However, she seized his collar, pulling him back into her sphere. Her lips brushed against his other ear as she spoke, her voice a blend of assurance and caution. "But you do have good taste. She is one strong girl. And she can surely move on."
Her words comforting and suffocating all at once.