Chapter 302

Chapter 302
He looked at me properly then, brows lifting in clear surprise. “You did?” he asked carefully.

It hit me then—this was the first time I had spoken in days. Properly spoken. Not nods. Not silence. Words.

I nodded.

I lifted my hands and showed him what I was holding. The flowers first. Then the folded note. Fabian took them from me slowly, like they might break.

He looked at the roses, turning them slightly in his hands, then at the paper.

His forehead creased. “What am I looking at, darling?”

“Smell them,” I said quickly, leaning forward and pushing his wrist closer to his face. “Please. Just smell them.”

He hesitated, then did as I asked.

“Okay…” he trailed off, inhaling again. “These are fresh.” He frowned slightly. “Very fresh. Who gave them to you?”

I let out a breath that was half a laugh, half frustration. “Fabian,” I said, tired and sharp at the same time. “There is only one person on this earth who gives me flowers like this.”

He glanced down at them again, then at me.

“And look at the note,” I added, urgency creeping into my voice. “Read it.”

He unfolded the paper.

“That is what Isa—” I stopped myself abruptly, my throat slamming shut around the name. My chest tightened and for a second I thought I might be sick. I swallowed hard. “That is what he tells me every time,” I rushed on. “Every time, Fabian. It’s ours. Just between us.”

Fabian’s face softened, but he didn’t interrupt. He just listened.

“Okay,” he said gently. “And?”

The word made something snap inside me.

“And?” I echoed, my hands clenching into fists. “Fabian, I found them in my room. Our room. Today. With this note.”

His eyes dropped back to the flowers, conflict flickering across his face before he looked up at me again.

“So,” he said carefully, “what do you think happened?”

The question landed heavy.

The thought had lived in my head since the moment I saw the roses, growing louder, stronger, refusing to die. But saying it out loud felt dangerous. Like if I said it, it would either come true… or shatter completely.

“What if…” My voice shook. I had to stop and breathe. “What if he’s still a-alive? What if—”

“Wait,” Fabian cut in gently, shaking his head as he stood and moved closer. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a careful hug. “Hold on, darling.”

I pulled back, already defensive. “I know how it sounds,” I said quickly. “I know. And before you say it, I am not crazy, alright? You’re already looking at me like I am.”

He lifted both hands in surrender. “I’m not.”

“But look at this,” I pressed, pointing at the flowers, the note. “Who would do this? Who would walk into my room, leave fresh flowers, and write something only he would ever say to me?”

Fabian exhaled slowly. “Maybe he did all this before his death.”

I stared at him. “So you’re saying he knew he was going to die?”

“I’m saying Isaiah was a meticulous man,” Fabian replied softly. “Organized. Always five steps ahead. Leaving flowers and a note for his wife on the day of his funeral is… something he could do. Look at his will, for example. He settled everything years ago. Long before you both even found your way back to each other.”

The words hit harder than I expected because they were true.

Earlier that day, Isaiah’s lawyer had come with Ian and Fabian. I remembered sitting there, numb, as they told me Isaiah had left everything to me. Everything. Not split. Not shared. Every single thing—legitimate and illegitimate—worth billions. An amount so large it didn’t even feel real. An amount that could carry generations of my bloodline without anyone ever working again.

Isaiah had planned for everything.

And yet…

Something still felt wrong.

“You know what I think?” Fabian continued, drawing my attention back to him.

I looked up at him.

He leaned closer and took my hand in his, squeezing gently. His eyes were kind. Tired. Worried. “I think you need rest, darling. Food. Sleep. You haven’t had any of it since this happened.”

My lips parted, but he wasn’t done.

“I know how it feels,” he said quietly. “Losing the person you thought was part of yourself. It makes you want to disappear too. But Isaiah wouldn’t want that. He wouldn’t want you hurting yourself on his behalf. And he wouldn’t want you clinging to hope that will only tear you apart again.”

“But—”

“I promise,” Fabian said firmly, “I’ll look into this. I’ll find out how the flowers and the note got into your room.”

“No.” I shook my head quickly, standing up. The movement made me dizzy, but I didn’t sit back down. “Don’t.”

He frowned. “Tamara—”

“You don’t have to,” I said, breathless, my chest tight. “If you think I’m just being paranoid, then it’s fine. I don’t want to drag this out. I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

That wasn’t the real reason.

The real reason was that if this was Isaiah—if it was even a ghost of him—I didn’t want anyone chasing him away. I would leave every door open. Every window. I would let the world tear through me if it meant he might come back.

“But thank you,” I added softly. “For listening.”

I turned and walked out before Fabian could say anything else. I didn’t look back.

I couldn’t.

Because if I did, I might break all over again.

I got home that day, back to my spot in his room, drank myself to stupor, ready to end it all, ready to join him in the fire, there was no reason to continue leaving if he was truly not here. 

But by some miracle, a term I never believed in, before the night would crawl into morning,, I got my reason.