Chapter 108 The One I Missed the Most

Chapter 108 The One I Missed the Most
I stepped forward slowly, my shoes making a soft sound on the tiled floor.

Rachel quickly got off the phone and turned sharply. Her eyes widened when she saw me standing there.

“Oh… continue,” I chuckled dryly.

“Dave…” she muttered silently, her phone slipping from her fingers and clattering to the ground.

“What was that about?” I asked, my voice low and steady as I stared at her.

She took a step back.

“It’s not… I can explain…” she stuttered, her face pale.

“Explain what? That you hired a stalker who’s been terrorizing Joan and me? That you paid someone to record our private conversation and leak it online to destroy her reputation?” I scoffed.

Rachel’s lips trembled and she looked around desperately as if someone was coming to rescue her.

Then her legs gave out.

She dropped to her knees right in front of me with her hands clasped in front of her like she was praying.

“Dave, please… I love you,” she whispered, tears already streaming down her face.

“I’ve loved you for years. I’ve been right here, every day, handling your schedules, your meetings, and your life, but you never looked at me for once, not the way you looked at her.”

Her voice cracked.

“When you started dating Joan, I was so jealous because she had your attention and everything. You even bought her a car and I wanted to be in her shoes so badly. I wanted you to see me. So I… I thought if I could separate you two, if I could make her look bad, you would finally see me.”

Then she reached out to my legs, grabbing the hem of my trousers.

“Please, Dave. I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I just wanted you to see me. I’ve always loved you,” she added.

I looked down at her as she knelt on the cold floor, her tears ruining her makeup.

The woman who had been by my side for three years and whom I had trusted with my schedule, confidential emails, had been the one behind the stalking, the threats, and the leaked recording that was destroying Joan online.

That was hurtful.

I pulled my leg away gently but firmly.

“I trusted you… with everything,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

I looked at her for a long while and took out my phone.

Then I dialed the police.

“Hello, Detective Hayes. This is Dave Wilton. I need you to meet me in the parking lot of my company right now. There’s someone here who needs to be arrested.”

Rachel started sobbing harder, still on her knees.

“Please don’t do this. I’m sorry.”

“You must be joking,” I scoffed and pulled my legs away from her grip.

Ten minutes later, the police arrived and took her away while I followed them in my car.

When we got there, she confessed to everything in the interrogation room— hiring the stalker, paying her to follow us, conniving with a police officer to let her out of her holding cell because she was scared she would mention her name, recording the breakup, leaking it to Pixtagram, and other platforms.

She also said she didn’t know that the stalker was also acting on her own selfish interest and that she never knew she was an obsessed fan.

Then she gave them the stalker’s address and the payment records.

Not long after, the stalker was tracked down and arrested, this time with evidence enough to keep her behind bars for a long time.

I stood outside the police station as they took Rachel and her partner-in-crime away in handcuffs.

She looked back at me one more time, her eyes red and swollen from all the crying.

I looked at her too, my face blank.

And at that moment, it dawned on me that enemies are really often closer than we think.

ALEX HART’S POV

It had been three days since I sold my house, three days since I walked away with nothing but a bag of cash and my luggage, and three days of silence and blaming myself for trusting the wrong people.

I couldn’t eat.

A half-eaten crepe from yesterday still sat on the folding table I got from a discount store, already going hard at the edges.

I had tried to force down some rice earlier too, but it tasted like nothing. And when the exhaustion threatened to consume me, I took black coffee.

Sleep was worse.

I would lie on the thin mattress for hours with my eyes open as I stared at the ceiling. When I drift off, I have fragmented and ugly dreams. Sometimes I would hear my mother’s voice telling me I was doing the right thing for the family name.

Other times, I would see Cassandra laughing while she tore some pieces of paper, Marcus smiling as she shook hands with my clients behind my back, my company collapsing right in front of me and Joan pulling away as I tried to reach her.

I woke up sweating every time and tonight was not different.

I stood up slowly and walked to the window where I saw normal people walking down the streets.

I felt like I wasn’t one of them anymore because I felt empty.

I turned away from the window and stared at the bare walls again and that was when something inside me finally spoke.

I needed help, anyone I could get.

I couldn’t keep living like this. I couldn’t keep sitting in the dark and replaying every mistake while I let silence eat me alive.

Admitting to it felt heavy but it also felt strangely relieving.

I picked up my phone from the folding table and searched for therapists in the area. I scrolled through their profiles for a while before finally stumbling on the one who specialized in trauma and betrayal. Her name was Doctor Elena Ramirez and her website said she had availability the following week.

I booked the first available slot which was Tuesday at 10am.

Then I set the phone down and sat back on the mattress.

For the first time in weeks, I felt like I had taken one step forward, even if it was booking a therapy session on the phone.



Tuesday morning came too quickly.

I took my bath, put on a blue shirt and black trousers, and drove to Dr. Ramirez’s office.

The waiting room was simple with soft lighting, a few plants, and calming music playing in the background.

When my name was called, I walked into her office and sat on the couch across from her.

Dr. Ramirez was in her mid-forties, with kind eyes and a calm presence.

“It’s good to meet you, Alex. What brings you here today?” she smiled gently.

I stared at the floor for a long moment, sighed, and finally spoke.

“Everything fell apart,” I started, my voice low.

“My company, my trust in people, and my family, everything is gone. I don’t know how to move forward, I can’t eat or sleep either. All I do is… sit in my apartment all day and stare at the walls.”

She nodded and listened without interrupting.

I kept talking, telling her everything that had gone wrong in my life.

She listened patiently but asked gentle questions occasionally.

Then, toward the end of the session, she leaned forward slightly.

“Alex, in all this pain and loss, who do you miss the most?”

The question caught me off guard.

I opened my mouth to answer and the name came out before I could even stop it.

“Joan.”