High above the bustling city streets, Catelyn's headquarters was a sun-drenched sanctuary of creativity. Floor-to-ceiling windows welcomed the golden afternoon glow, illuminating a minimalist oak desk and a plush velvet couch tucked neatly into the corner.
Catelyn nestled against a cluster of oversized down pillows, a soft linen sketchbook balanced flat on her lap. Her fingers held a sharp 2B pencil, gliding effortlessly across the textured paper. Stroke by confident stroke, the contours of her masterpiece began to take shape—a fluid, avant-garde handbag draped with cascading, asymmetrical ruffles. A quiet, contented smile played on her lips as she completely lost herself in the rhythm of design.
The brass bell above the door of Browns Book Shop chimed softly, but Elsa barely noticed. Seated behind the wooden cash counter, she stared blankly at her phone screen, her thumb rhythmically tapping the edge of the glass.
Her mind was a whirlwind, replaying the heavy weight of the cash Jordin had given her. It was life-changing money—enough to walk away from cramped apartments and endless rent notices forever.
We could finally have a real home, she thought, picturing a bright, airy place where she and Lucy could live without anxiety. A place that is truly ours even a car that could help us around.
Then, a cold knot twisted in her stomach.
She could already picture Lucy's wide, astonished eyes when told the news. The sheer disbelief, followed immediately by the inevitable, probing question: "Elsa... where on earth did we get the money to buy a house?"
Elsa swallowed hard, a heavy ache settling in her chest. She couldn't tell her the truth. She could never look her closest friend in the eye and confess that she had sold her body to a man for a paycheck.
She respects me too much, Elsa agonized inwardly. Even if Lucy never yelled or said a harsh word to my face, I'd see it in her eyes. The quiet judgment. The lingering thought that I sold myself out of foolishness.
The thought of losing Lucy's unconditional respect made her chest tighten. She'd rather carry the secret to her grave, pretending everything was completely normal, burying the memory of Jordin deep where no one could ever reach it. With a shaky breath, she unlocked her phone and began typing into a real estate app.
The Wayne Estate
The polished mahogany front door of the Wayne estate swung open, revealing Priscilla Wayne's radiant smile.
"Silas!" she gasped, her eyes lighting up with instant warmth as she pulled her son into a tight, fierce embrace. "Oh, look at you! Come inside, darling."
"It's good to see you too, Mom," Silas said, returning the hug with a genuine smile as he stepped into the grand foyer.
Priscilla beamed, her heart overflowing with the deep, quiet joy of having her son home. Moments later, they were settled comfortably across from each other in the sunroom, a silver tea service resting on the low glass table between them.
"So, how have you been holding up, sweetie?" Priscilla asked, pouring a cup of steaming tea and handing it to him.
"Good. I've been busy with my routine—exercising, reading books, and spending time at the company," Silas replied.
"Okay, that's fine," Priscilla murmured softly.
"How have you been, Mum?" Silas asked, his brown eyes resting on his mother with deep affection.
"I'm fine. I visited the spa and occasionally kneated."
"That's nice. I tried doing that too," Silas said, a genuine smile touching his face.
"Really? That's wonderful." Priscilla said happily she paused, hesitation flickering in her expression. She had never quite recovered from the heartbreak of his split with Catelyn; she had always adored the young woman. "And how are you and Catelyn coping? I must admit, I was heartbroken when I heard you two split up. I always loved her."
Silas stared down into his teacup, tracing the silver rim with his thumb. "We're... managing, Mom. It's just quiet."
Knowing how deeply her son loved Catelyn, Priscilla offered an empathetic smile. "Well, things happen for a reason. She's a wonderful woman, but you'll find someone else who fits into your life just right. Everything works out the way it's supposed to."
Silas forced a faint, tight-lipped nod. "Yeah, I suppose you're right," he lied, keeping his true feelings locked away. Because the truth was, no one else mattered; he was still desperate to find a way to weave Catelyn back into his life.
Eager to shift the heavy subject, Silas asked, "How is Dad's foot healing up?"
"Oh, much better, thank you for asking," Priscilla brightened. "He's as stubborn as ever, of course. He actually went out to play eighteen holes with his friends at the club today. He should be back before dinner."
"You'll be staying for dinner, right?" Priscilla asked, hoping to keep him close a little longer.
"Yes, Mum. I'm staying for dinner, and I'll be here for a few days," Silas promised.
Priscilla's face lit up with happiness. Silas was the most attentive of her sons when it came to visiting, and having him home filled her heart with immense comfort. "Thank goodness," she smiled.
Later that evening, the dining room chandelier cast a warm, golden glow over the long glass table, illuminating a spread of roasted herb chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, and steaming seasonal vegetables.
Fred Wayne sat at the head of the table, cutting a piece of meat with steady hands before looking across at his son with a warm, assessing gaze.
"So, Silas," Fred began, resting his fork on the edge of his plate and leaning back in his chair. "It's been a minute since we had you sitting at this table for a proper weeknight meal. How are you holding up, son? Really? With work, with life... everything?"
Silas paused, lowering his cutlery as he met his father's steady eyes. He could hear the genuine care beneath Fred's authoritative tone—the kind of grounding concern only a father could offer.
"I'm managing, Dad," Silas replied, offering a measured, reassuring smile. "Work at the company has been keeping me busy, so at least my mind stays occupied. Just trying to keep a steady routine, you know?"
Fred nodded slowly, pointing his knife gently toward Silas to emphasize his point. "Good. Routine is important. But don't let work consume you to the point where you forget to take care of yourself. A man's foundation is his health and his peace of mind. If either of those cracks, everything else crumbles. Make sure you're sleeping right, eating right, and taking time to breathe."
"I will, Dad. I appreciate that," Silas said, feeling a familiar weight lift slightly from his shoulders.
Priscilla beamed at her husband before turning her full, affectionate attention to her son. "Your father is right, Silas. And tell me, sweetheart, how are you really feeling emotionally? Are you eating enough home-cooked meals, or are you still surviving on takeout and caffeine like you always do when you're stressed?"
Silas chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I've been eating better, Mom, I promise. No takeout this week."
Beneath his calm exterior, Fred harbored a quiet resentment. He knew all about the breakup, and it deeply troubled him. He felt an acute sadness for his son, and a lingering bitterness toward Catelyn for walking away when everything seemed so right, leaving Silas shattered and miserable. He despised the fact that she had initiated the split, breaking his son's heart without a backward glance.
Still, Silas felt comforted by their presence. "I've been getting out, Mom. I went to the club with some of the guys over the weekend, and honestly... being back here with you and Dad tonight is doing me a lot of good."
"Thank goodness," Fred said.
"Yes, thank God," Priscilla echoed, as Silas grinned.
"I have to say, Silas, it is damn good to have you back under this roof. The house feels empty without you," Priscilla admitted softly.
"It sure is," Fred agreed.
Silas smiled, feeling a genuine wave of warmth wash over him. "Thanks, Mum. It's really good to be back home with you both." His parents beamed with joy, and the family continued their meal wrapped in a blanket of domestic peace.
Later that night, within the spacious, brightly lit sanctuary of his bedroom, Silas sat alone against the tufted headboard of his neatly made bed, staring blankly at his phone.
The quiet of the room seemed to amplify the ghosts of his memories. He looked across the empty space to his right—the exact spot where Catelyn used to sit during so many family gatherings. He could still vividly picture her radiant laugh, the way she would playfully steal a piece of roasted carrot from his plate, and how effortlessly she had woven herself into the fabric of his family's life.
A sudden, sharp ache ripped through his chest.
They had shared so many wonderful evenings right here, wrapped in the promise of forever. Now, that shared future felt like a distant, heavy dream. Closing his eyes, he could see her sitting across from him, laughing effortlessly, her hand resting softly over his.
But the vision faded, leaving behind only the stark reality of the empty room, and the heavy, lingering ache of what used to be.