Storm clouds gathered above the city of Westbridge, and heavy rain fell—as though the city itself were remembering and grieving with someone. The morning rain showed no signs of stopping, but the knowledge of that fact didn't deter the figure kneeling before the headstone, unmoving despite the storm.
The cemetery was empty—quiet even, save for the sound of rain and the sound of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears. He didn't look like the deadly and unfeeling CEO of the Valemore Empire that the world knew—just someone lost in the emotions he absolutely refused to let himself feel.
Rowan's grip on the flowers tightened, broad shoulders flexing underneath his long black coat—now weighed down by the rain. He didn't wipe his face as water traced his carved features and ran cold down his collar because he welcomed the sensation—grief had long dulled his.
He placed the flowers down gently—a familiar practice now. He had returned to this grave every year without fail, even when the rest of the family pretended that the day meant nothing.
He bowed his head, releasing a breath he didn't know he held.
"I'm here... again," he murmured, his voice almost lost to the rain.
His hand trembled a bit, but he forced it down "I'm sorry," he continued, knuckles white from tightening it.
The words tasted bitter in his mouth, but there was nothing else he could say. People's apologies always came too late—same as this time too. There was obviously no response—not now, not in the years to come because the dead don't speak.
He inhaled, memories pressing in of her—the way she laughed, her stubbornness, and the way she told him to stop carrying the world alone. He missed her more than he would let himself admit, but was he even allowed to when he couldn't even save her. He clenched his fists so tight, they almost bled.
This was not getting easier.
And so, time passed by unnoticed, until footsteps approached him from behind.
"Sir."
Rowan didn't turn.
The tall man who stood just a few steps away held onto an umbrella he hadn't bothered opening, rain soaking his suit while he held his tablet like a shield. Caleb's voice cut through the rain—steady, professional, and loyal. He'd been with Rowan long enough to know better than to speak twice in situations like this.
"There's a call waiting. Your father." Caleb added, the rain beating into his tall frame and handsome features.
"Ignore it," Rowan says while rising, straightening his already wet outfit while Caleb just nods and opens the umbrella—though it was useless—to cover his boss. Rowan straightens the flowers on the grave space.
He exhales, quietly murmuring; "I'll come again next year, Sis." And the second he starts to walk away, his mask of indifference and superiority slipping back into place.
And across the city, life continued just as it always did, with cars moving through crowded streets and people rushing through their ordinary days.
And somewhere among them, someone who had been gone for just as long, had finally returned.
---
The automatic doors of the airport slid open with a soft mechanical sound, as another wave of travelers stepped out into the afternoon air. Suitcases rolled across the pavement, the voices of people blending with the hum of waiting taxis.
Among them, a young woman in sunglasses stepped outside, pausing just outside the entrance. She adjusted her bag strap as her gaze shifted towards the skyline of Westbridge. The city stretched across the horizon exactly as she remembered—glass towers catching the sunlight and the traffic moving through the street below.
For a moment, she simply stood there, closing her eyes to take in the city, her raven-black hair fluttering in the soft breeze. Three years had not changed the city much.
But it had changed her.
Aurelia Thorne lowered her sunglasses slightly, emerald eyes scanning the familiar streets with a thoughtful expression.
She had finally returned.
"Are you planning on standing there forever?"
The voice came to her from her left. So, Aurelia turned, eyes moving to where that familiar voice came from.
A woman leaned casually against a sleek car by the curb, arms crossed, a knowing smile plastered across her face. She wore high-waisted cream tailored trousers paired with a brown turtleneck top, tucked neatly at the waist.
Over it, she had thrown on a lightweight oversized blazer—in a muted beige tone, her brown her tied up in an elegant updo and black sunglasses rested on the bridge of her nose. On her feet were brown leather heels, elegant and practical for the city streets—a simple look, but the quality of the fabrics and the way she carried herself made it clear she belonged in the fashion world.
Nadia.
For a second, none of them moved—just staring... and feeling.
Then Nadia pushed herself off the car with a laugh, heels clicking as she walked forward.
"I leave you alone for three years, and this is the welcome I get. Do you not love me anymore, Lee?" Nadia grumbled, using the nickname she gave her back in college.
Aurelia shook her head, a small smile breaking through the calm composure she had been holding since she stepped of the plane.
"You're still dramatic."
"And you're still late," Nadia replied, pulling her into a quick hug. "Seriously, do you know how long I've been waiting for you to come back?"
Aurelia glanced once more at the city behind them before hugging Nadia tighter, breathing in her familiar warmth.
She missed her.
They made to move towards Nadia's white Lexus LC 500 Convertible, while Aurelia dragged her suitcase behind her to the trunk of the car.
Westbridge looked the same—but something about being here again felt... different, maybe the air.
And she couldn't explain why.