Four Hundred And Eighteen

Four Hundred And Eighteen
James’ POV

The office was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioning and the soft rustle of papers from the desk. I was sitting behind it, elbows resting on the polished mahogany, trying to concentrate on some reports that demanded my attention. But the calm was deceptive; a nagging sense of restlessness had settled over me ever since I kissed Ella, I always controlled myself but that day all restraint just broke and I couldn't stop myself, I never knew desire until I met Ella.

Just then the phone in my office rang and it was my secretary.

“Sir Ms Lopez is here to see you.” she cautiously said.

Again. I knew she wouldn't give up. I made a mistake calling her that day Cecilia went missing and now she is convinced I miss her.

When the knock came at the door, I didn’t even have to glance up to know it was her. The voice that followed, thin, measured, with just a hint of sweetness, confirmed it.

“James… may I come in?”

I exhaled through my nose, leaning back in my chair. “Yes. Come in.”

The door swung open, and there she stood, polished to perfection, as always. Her clothes screamed wealth and effortless taste, her hair fell in deliberate waves that took hours to achieve, and her makeup was painted with the precision of someone who knew how to weaponize beauty. But beneath it, I saw the cracks.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Her voice was soft, almost wounded, but her eyes searched mine like a hawk.

“I’ve been busy,” I answered, too quickly, too flatly. The words were clipped, and I hated how defensive they sounded. I wanted them to come out cool, detached. Instead, they landed somewhere between weary and irritated.

She gave a laugh, but it wasn’t real, it was brittle, the sound of glass about to fracture. “Busy,” she repeated, drawing the syllables out as though they amused her. “That’s always your excuse, isn’t it? Busy with the business. Busy with your family. Busy with your… wife.”

The last word lingered between us like smoke.

Her gaze sharpened, her lips curling into something between a sneer and a smile. Then, with a steadier voice, she added, “You know, there was a time I really thought you loved me. That’s why when you told me you were going to marry Ella, I agreed. Because I wanted to make you happy. Because I believed, God help me, that what we had was stronger than whatever twisted revenge you were chasing. But look at us now.” 

I shut my eyes. Her words stung because there was truth in them. She had loved me. Or at least, she believed she had. She had given me a kind of devotion I should never have asked for, never have accepted. And I had taken it, selfishly, knowing full well it was only a mask, a distraction from the one woman I could never erase, no matter how hard I tried.

Ella.

Always Ella.

“Victoria,” I said, forcing her name out past the knot in my throat. “Tell me why you’re here.”

Her composure cracked. For just a moment, she wasn’t the polished woman in designer silk, wasn’t the sharp-tongued temptress who’d played my game. She was just… human. Her lips trembled, her shoulders sagged.

“Because I have nowhere else to go.”

The words were a whisper, but they hit me like a blow.

“My parents—” She faltered, then steadied herself with visible effort. “They’ve cut me off. No money. No support. I don’t even have a home, James. Do you understand? I have nothing.”

And then she did it, her hand lifted to her chest, fingers closing around the small silver locket that hung there.

That locket.

Inside it were the ashes of our child. The child who had never taken a breath, yet whose absence haunted me more than I could admit. For a long time, I couldn’t even look at it, couldn’t stand the reminder of the one moment that had almost changed everything. She wore it like armor, but when her fingers clutched it now, her mask shattered completely.

I felt my chest tighten, a sharp, unbearable ache.

That child was the one truth between us. The one thing that bound us together in a way nothing else could. We had shared that loss, though we had grieved it differently. She had clung to it. I had buried it beneath layers of silence and bitterness.

And now, seeing her standing in front of me with her world stripped away, clinging to that tiny piece of silver as if it was all she had left… it was too much.

I knew the truth already. Her parents were bankrupt, drowning in debts they had borrowed from me over the years, mismanaged, careless. I never asked for any of the money back out of courtesy for her and the history we had.

“Victoria…” My voice broke on her name.

Her eyes lifted to mine, searching, desperate. “Do you know what it feels like?” she asked softly, the steel gone from her tone. “To give everything to someone, only to realize you were never enough? That no matter what I did, no matter how much I loved you, I was never going to get even a piece of your heart?”

I turned away, dragging a hand through my hair, fighting the storm rising in me. Guilt gnawed at me like a relentless tide. I had used Victoria, there was no denying it. I had taken her loyalty, her body, her heart, because I couldn’t have the one thing I truly wanted, and knowing what Ella felt I wanted to make her miserable.

Her eyes blazed, though her voice trembled when she spoke.

“You said we’d still be friends, James. But you’ve been a terrible friend. You shut me out. Even after all these years—years I shamelessly clung to you, even though I knew you would never love me. I stayed. I endured. And after our child died… You left me to carry the grief alone.”

Her words struck like blows, each one heavier than the last. My chest tightened, but before I could speak, she went on, her tone sharp and brittle.

“Is it because she wasn’t yours and Ella’s? Is that why it was so easy for you to walk away from me? From us?”

The accusation sliced deep, but I forced the words out. “Don’t you dare say that.” My voice cracked, unsteady with the weight of memory. “I loved our child. From the moment I saw her tiny body in the incubator… I loved her. From the moment I first saw her on that ultrasound monitor, when her heartbeat filled the room—I loved her.”

“I know you loved her,” Victoria whispered, her hand clutching the locket like a lifeline. Then her lips curved into a sad, broken smile. “But you never loved me.”

I had no answer. Because she was right.

Her voice hardened again, anger laced with grief. “And now you live under the same roof with the woman who killed your sister, and our child. Do you have any idea what that does to me? Knowing that no matter what she does, no matter what she has done, you will always choose her?”

I flinched, the air between us tightening until it was almost impossible to breathe.

She pressed her hand against her abdomen, her eyes brimming with tears. “Do you know what it feels like? The chronic pain from the scar of the C-section… it never lets me forget. Every time it burns, every time it aches, I relive those days after losing her. I carry that reminder in my body, James. Every single day.”

I hated the pity swelling in my chest. I hated the way my heart stung at the sight of her fingers wrapped around that locket. 

But most of all, I hated myself.

Because even now, with Victoria standing before me, shattered, pleading, I could only think of Ella. Of the way her laugh still echoed in my memory, the way her presence filled a room without trying. The way she had always been the one light I chased, even when I told myself I wanted the dark.

“I’ll write you a check,” I said, my tone gentle. “Enough for you to live on for five years until you get back on your feet and have the lawyer transfer the penthouse to your name.”

“You never see it, do you, James?” she whispered, voice trembling but steady enough to cut through me. “Everything I’ve done, every sacrifice, it’s always been for you. Do you think I forgot the day Ella pushed me down the stairs? Do you think I forgot the way my body ached, the way I bled, the way I thought I was going to lose everything? I could have pressed charges. I should have pressed charges.”

Her eyes met mine, glassy with fury and heartbreak. “But I didn’t. Because you asked me not to. Because you told me it would destroy you if I did. And I loved you enough to obey. I stayed silent, for you. I endured, for you. And what do I get in return?” Her voice rose, trembling. “A cheque and the keys to a penthouse!”

Her hand shot out, flinging the envelope I’d given her across the room. The crisp paper scattered like debris on the polished floor. “I don’t want your money, James. I never wanted it. I wanted you.”

I swallowed hard, shame pressing down like a vice. The truth was in her eyes, undeniable. She had stood by me in ways I had never asked for but had always accepted. She had swallowed her pride, her pain, even her justice, all for me. And what had I given her? Nothing but scraps.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, the words weak, useless.

Her laugh was hollow, sharp. “Sorry? God, James, you think that fixes anything?” She shook her head, the sad smile curling on her lips once more. Then, softer, she added, “Do you even realize what it feels like to live in that penthouse? It reeks of you. Every wall, every piece of furniture screams your taste. Your cold, sterile minimalism. It doesn’t feel like mine, it feels like yours. And living in it, alone, it’ll kill me. It’ll drag me deeper into this darkness I’m already drowning in.”

She paused, watching me with an intensity that made my chest ache. “I want to redecorate it. Make it mine. Change it until it no longer feels like I’m trapped in your shadow.”

I said nothing. What could I say? That I understand? That I didn’t? My silence stretched, and she stepped closer, her voice breaking with raw desperation.

“So let me stay with you. Please. At least while I’m renovating. I don’t want to be alone, James. If I’m alone, I’ll spiral. I can feel it happening already, this… this abyss pulling at me. I can’t face it by myself.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, her vulnerability raw, unmasked. For once, she wasn’t the polished, calculated woman who always seemed in control. She was just Victoria, the grieving mother, the abandoned daughter, the woman who had tethered her entire life to me even when I had nothing real to give her.

And though every instinct screamed that letting her stay would only complicate the mess my life already was, I couldn’t bring myself to say no.

“Yes,” I heard myself answer, my voice low, rough. “You can stay.”

Her breath hitched, a flicker of relief flashing across her features before the mask slid back into place.

As she turned to leave, her heels clicking against the polished floor, I couldn’t help the shiver that ran down my spine. It wasn’t fear, exactly, it was awareness. Awareness of the storm she could bring, the chaos she could unleash, and the reminders of my own weaknesses that she represented. I had walked through fires before, but this… this was a fire that threatened to engulf everything I had built, everything I had fought to protect.

I exhaled slowly, leaning back against my chair, closing my eyes. I knew the estate would no longer feel like a sanctuary with her in it, even temporarily. I knew my interactions with Ella would be tested, that the fragile peace we had begun to rebuild would be strained.