Chapter 47 Burden

Chapter 47 Burden
Leo

When I walked into the club, my eyes immediately swept the room, searching for her. And then I saw her. She looked tired, too pale, too drained. Something was wrong.

I took a seat, my gaze glued to her. I couldn’t look away. She moved from customer to customer, pretending to care about whatever nonsense they were saying, even though her expression screamed that she wanted to disappear.

A wave of concern and irritation rolled through me. The urge to pull her out of here, to take her away from this place, grew stronger by the second.

“Hey,” I called a worker over, keeping my voice low but firm. “Bring that lady to my table.”

He paused, staring at me a little too long, like he was trying to remember where he’d seen me before. When it clicked, his face brightened awkwardly and he gave a quick, almost theatrical nod before heading toward Zara.

He whispered to her. She hesitated, I could see it, but she still made her way toward me. She didn’t recognize me yet. As she came closer, her awkwardness showed; she stumbled, nearly falling. Instinct kicked in and I reached out, catching her, steadying her by the waist.

She sucked in a breath, her body stiffening as her eyes finally met mine. For a moment, we just stared at each other.

“Hello, Zara,” I said quietly.

Her face went even paler, and she looked at me as if she’d just spotted a ghost.

The moment she recognized me, her eyes widened, and shock washed over her features. She froze, as if her mind was racing to find a reality where I wasn’t standing right there, staring at her in this very spot.

She swallowed hard and quickly turned her face away, almost as if she thought hiding could somehow erase what she’d just seen.

“It’s okay,” I said gently, my hand still resting lightly on her waist before I slowly let go. “Zara. Look at me.”

She hesitated for a moment, then forced herself to meet my gaze again. Her eyes sparkled with embarrassment, maybe even shame, and that hurt more than anything.

“Please wait here until I finish working,” she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur, strained and fragile.

I nodded once. “Take your time.”

She exhaled shakily and stepped back. Then she turned and walked away, trying to appear purposeful, but her steps revealed her nerves. I could see the tension etched in every line of her body. I stayed put, watching. I wasn’t going anywhere.

For the next hour, I sat there, arms crossed loosely, my gaze fixed on her as if she might vanish if I blinked. Every forced smile she managed, every awkward conversation she endured, every time she avoided my eyes, it only made me feel worse. She didn’t belong here. Zara, of all people, deserved light, not this dim room filled with drunken strangers who didn’t recognize her worth.

Eventually, her shift came to an end. She walked back to me, slower this time, as if each step weighed her down. When she reached my table, she stood quietly, hands clasped in front of her.

“I’m done,” she whispered.

I got up from my chair and gestured toward the booth. “Come sit with me.”

She slid into the seat, her shoulders hunched as if she wanted to disappear. I took a good look at her, the weary curve of her lips, the dark shadows under her eyes, the fatigue that was impossible to mask any longer.

“Zara,” I started, keeping my voice low, “why didn’t you tell me?”

She stared down at her hands. “Tell you what?”

“That you were struggling.” My voice came out sharper than I meant it to. I softened my tone. “That you needed help.”

She shook her head slightly. “I didn’t… I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Bother me?” I leaned in, disbelief creeping into my voice. “Zara, you could never bother me.”

Her lips quivered at my words, as if they hit a nerve. She took a sharp breath, and suddenly tears began to stream down her face. She tried to wipe them away quickly, embarrassed, but they just kept flowing.

I remained still. Calm. Let her cry. I knew her well; she wasn’t one to break easily. If she was crying like this, it meant she had been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders for far too long.

When she finally spoke, her voice was shaky.

“My father cut me off.”

I tensed. “Why?”

She swallowed hard. “Since… since the engagement with Ethan fell through.”

I recalled the engagement; they were supposed to be the perfect couple back when we were younger and life felt simpler. I had congratulated her once but hadn’t thought much about it after it all fell apart.

“And your father punished you for it.” My voice wasn’t loud, but there was a firmness to it that couldn’t be ignored.

“He said I ruined everything.” She lowered her head. “He told me if I wasn’t going to be useful, I’d have to learn to fend for myself without his help. So here I am.” A small, hollow laugh escaped her lips. “Just surviving.”

My hands clenched, and my jaw tightened. Cutting off your own daughter for reasons like control, pride, or appearances? It was just sad.

“You should’ve told me,” I said again, this time softer.

She shook her head. “You’re building an empire, Leo. I didn’t want to be just another burden for you.”

“You’re not a burden,” I insisted. “You never were. You could never be.”

Then she looked up at me, really looked, her eyes red and weary. For a brief moment, she was the same girl I grew up with, the one who would laugh until she choked on her own jokes, who’d pull me outside to catch sunsets, who believed life was about more than just money and expectations.

I took a deep breath, steadying my voice. “Come to the company tomorrow.”

She blinked in surprise. “What?”

“We could really use your talents. You’re brilliant, Zara. I know what you can do.” I leaned back, emphasizing my point. “You belong in an office, not… here.”

Her throat moved as she swallowed hard. “Are you sure? I don’t want—”

I gently interrupted her. “I’m sure.”

She stared at me, a mix of hope and disbelief flickering in her eyes. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay… thank you, Leo.”

Her voice quivered, delicate yet brimming with relief. It seemed like she might burst into tears again, so I did the only thing that felt right. I reached across the table and slid something toward her, a small, neatly folded napkin.

Inside lay a delicate silver bracelet. the kind you could wear every day without a second thought. The kind that brought back memories of home, safety, and someone who truly cared.

“You dropped this years ago,” I said gently. “I found it in that old treehouse we used to sneak off to after school.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. She remembered. I could see it in her eyes, the warmth, the lazy afternoons of our childhood, the friendship that had never really faded.

“I kept it,” I added, “because you always said it made you feel brave.”

Tears welled up again, but this time they were different, she looked at me as if I had given her something far more precious than silver.

“You’re not alone,” I assured her. “Not anymore.”

She gazed at the bracelet, holding it tightly as if it were a lifeline. “Thank you,” she murmured.

I stood up and extended my hand to her. “Let me take you home.”

Just as she was about to reply, I noticed Ethan making his way toward us.

Are you kidding me?