Past Love

Past Love
The shack fire crackled, casting dancing shadows on Sharon and Addicus, their silence a battleground. Rain beat on the tin roof, a cacophonous sound, the forest beyond a dark, inky black. Sharon was still rigid, her corner a fortress, her injured leg throbbing but her will unbroken. Addicus's gun rested on his knee, his eyes on her, a whirlpool of obsession and regret. The air stank of damp wood and unknowable history, the tempest trapping them in an uneasy standoff.

Sharon's mind churned—escape was impossible now, but Peter was on his way, hunting. She clung to that, her love a shield against Addicus's madness. His stories of his own past lingered with her, a chink in his armor, but she would not pity him. He'd taken everything—her family, her safety, Martha's life. His pain did not forgive him that.

Addicus leaned in, fire flickering in his eyes. "Danielle," he whispered, voice hardly audible, almost reverent. "Her name was Danielle. I met her at a benefit thirty years ago. She was. different. Nice, beautiful. I thought she saw me, not my name or money."

Sharon said nothing, wary but intrigued, her escape plans simmering. The storm gave her time; she'd hear him out, if only to understand the monster.

\---

Thirty Years Ago...

Addicus, younger but already hardened, sat in the office of his mansion, signing papers, the room thick with cigar smoke and leather. A vinyl record played in the corner, The Police humming softly. Mr. Benjamin came in, his suit pressed, his smile wary. "Morning, sir."

"Morning," said Addicus, not looking up. "What's this about?"

"Just checking on you," Benjamin said, unconvincing.

Addicus's pen stopped. "Spit it out. Company trouble?"

"No, good news," Benjamin said, sitting up. "The marketing department's pitch—you wanted a family-friendly brand. They suggest a charity event, giving furniture and funds to orphanages. Enhances our image."

"Clever," Addicus said. "Do it."

"You need to be there," Benjamin said. "A CEO appearance sells it."

Addicus groaned, rubbing his temple. "Alright. When?"

"Tomorrow afternoon," Benjamin said, surprised at the quick acquiescence.

"Done," Addicus replied, waving him away. He lay back, the recollection of Samantha Logan—her corruption, his retribution—still a burden on his mind. Love was a danger he'd interred, his kingdom his sole solace.

The next day, Addicus attended the charity event, a packed hall filled with orphans and donors. There was children's laughter, a bitter contrast to his frozen world. He sat in the donors' section, a Worthington Enterprise representative, his designer suit his shield. Benjamin elbowed him. "Mix with the kids. Smile for the cameras."

"Isn't my being here enough?" Addicus snarled, irritation flaring.

"Handshakes, sir," Benjamin insisted. "It's PR."

Addicus stood, smiling wryly, and approached the children. That was when he saw her—Danielle, surrounded by children, drawing animals on paper. Her warmth, her comfort, stopped him in his tracks. She radiated, her laughter spontaneous, not like scheming women he'd met. He had to get to know her.

"Mind if I join?" he asked the children, sitting down among them.

The children moved over, giggling. Danielle looked up, her eyes warm. "Next?" she asked.

"Me," Addicus said, smiling a rare charm. "Sign your name."

She blushed, signing Danielle on paper, giving it to him. "Beautiful name," he murmured, low.

"And yours?" she asked, smiling.

"Addicus James Worthington," he said, kissing her hand. "At your service."

"Worthington Enterprise?" she said, startled. "Your work with the orphanages—it's philanthropic."

"Doing what is right," he said, modesty a new role.

They talked, her sincerity disarming him. For the first time since Samantha, his guard fell, his heart stirring. She wasn't beauty only; she was light in his dark world.

\---

Back in the Present...

"That's how it started," Addicus said, voice heavy, the shack's fire dying out. "Danielle made me believe I could love again. I was wrong."

Sharon's jaw tightened, his story a manipulation, yet she indulged him, eyes scanning for a chance. "What did she do?" she queried, voice devoid of emotion, mind on escape.

"We were together for months," he said to her. "Dinners, strolls, her laughter echoing my silence. I thought she felt it too. But she was using me—a rung to ascend, her ambition hidden behind those eyes. She destroyed me, Sharon. Love's an illusion."

The fire popped, rain leaking through the roof, pooling on the floor. Sharon's heart raced—his weakness was a chance, but the gun was steady. A branch snapped outside, too weighted for the storm, as if the forest waited, a predator prowling.

\---

Peter lay wakeful in the hollow tree, rain dripping through the roots, his mind on Sharon. Chris and Jinx slept fitfully, their soft breath a counterpoint to the shriek of the storm. Peter's worry nagged—Sharon by herself with Addicus, defenseless. He couldn't lose her, not after Jane and Debora. The storm mocked his agitation, trapping him, but he vowed he'd rouse the instant it slackened.