50

Chapter 50

I stood outside Mr. Preston's office, my hands clenched at my sides. I had thought about waiting until the end of my notice period, but now that the secret was out, staying felt more uncomfortable than ever. My bags were packed, my apartment was paid for, and there was no reason to drag this out any longer.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door, and Mr. Preston called for me to come in.

He glanced up from his desk as I walked in. "I had a feeling you'd come to see me eventually."

I exhaled slowly and straightened up. "I've been thinking it over, and I'd like to request that my resignation be effective immediately."

Mr. Preston raised an eyebrow. "But you still have a week left."

"I know," I said. "But I'm already packed, my apartment is ready, and I've finished all my pending tasks. It doesn't make sense for me to stay any longer."

He sat back in his chair, fingers tapping lightly on the desk. "Are you sure about this?"

"I am."

"What made you come to this decision?"

I hesitated, gathering my thoughts before speaking with conviction. "I just feel like my staying here will only hurt the Prestons' reputation."

A sigh escaped him. "I was just about to inform you that we've been working on handling the rumors. Keeping things quiet, redirecting the press." He folded his hands together. "But I don't think Richard's going to be happy about this."

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my voice. "I know."

He studied me for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned back in his chair, waiting for me to say more. "Is there anything else you want to tell me?" he asked.

I considered it briefly, but then shook my head. "No, sir."

He thought for a moment before asking, "Is there something I can do to make you stay?"

"I'm afraid I already made up my mind." I said.

Mr. Preston's expression remained unreadable before he finally gave a curt nod. "Alright. If you insist."

I relaxed, relieved that it was over. "Thank you, sir."

"Before you go, I have something to give you." he reached for something inside his desk drawer and placed an envelope on the table.

"What's this?" I asked.

He tapped the envelope. "Your mother left this with me before she passed away. She strictly instructed me to give it to you only if you ever asked about your father." His gaze softened slightly. "You haven't asked, but I think it's time you have it."

My throat tightened as I picked up the envelope. The weight of it felt heavier than anything I had packed into my boxes.

"Take care of yourself, Carl," he said, his voice quieter than usual. "You will be missed."

I gave a stiff nod before turning and walking out of the office.

Mr. Preston was kind enough to arrange for movers on such short notice, and by the afternoon, all of my belongings were packed and loaded into the truck.  I said goodbye to everyone at the manor, my sudden departure had caught them off guard. The Prestons reassured me that I was always welcome to come back, but I knew I never could.

By nightfall, I was in my new apartment, surrounded by boxes and the faint buzz of the city outside. The couch I'd ordered the previous weekend was the only piece of furniture I had to sleep on. Exhausted, I ordered takeout and sat alone in the dimly lit kitchen, the envelope staring at me from the counter.

I picked it up, turning it over in my hands. For years, I'd wondered about my father but I had already made peace with not knowing. Now that the truth was within reach, I wasn't sure I was ready or even needed to know his identity.

I set the envelope aside, too drained to open it.

******

The next morning, a series of loud knocks woke me up. I knew exactly who it was before I even opened the door.

Richard stood there, his eyes blazing with anger and hurt. "You left," he said, his voice rough. "Without telling me."

I sighed. "I knew you'd come."

He shoved past me, stepping into the apartment. "You were just going to disappear? After everything?"

"I was planning to tell you after your meeting. I didn't want to distract you."

"The hell with that meeting!" he snapped. "I took the earliest flight home after the news broke out, and what do I find? You're gone!"

I braced myself for his anger. I deserved it. "Richard, sit down. We need to talk."

"No!" he shouted, as if he already knew what was coming. "You can't do this. Please," he begged.

"Richard—" I tried to speak, but he cut me off, kissing me desperately.

I pushed him away. "It's over, Richard. We have to end this."

He recoiled as if I'd struck him. "Why?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "You're only  twenty-three. You have your whole future ahead of you. Maybe they were right.... Maybe I groomed you, or imprinted myself on you unwillingly."

Richard's face contorted with fury. "Don't you dare say that."

I exhaled. "You deserve to explore life, Richard. You deserve to figure out who you are outside of me."

"I already know who I am," he shot back. "And I want you."

I shook my head. "Some people's careers have been ruined over their relationships or sexuality. If that happened to you, I couldn't forgive myself. You have a legacy to protect. A name to uphold."

"So what?" he said, his voice rising. "Let them talk. I don't care what they think."

"But I do," I said softly, holding his face. "I care about what this could do to you—to your reputation, your family, everything you've worked for. I can't be the reason you lose all of that."

Tears welled in Richard's eyes. "So that's it? You're just throwing me away?"

My own vision blurred. "I'm letting you go. You're still young. The world has so much to offer you."

"But I need you!"

"What you need is to find someone who fits into your world, someone closer to your age like Andrea. It's time for you to let this childhood infatuation go—"

Richard grabbed my shoulders, shaking his head desperately. "I don't want Andrea. I don't want anyone else!"

He reached for my hand, his touch familiar and comforting, but I pulled away. The hurt in his eyes was almost too much to bear.

"Don't do this," he said, his voice cracking. "Please. I love you."

It hurt to say it, but if it was what it took for him to leave, I forced the words out. "Maybe I don't love you enough." The words cut through me as I whispered, "That's why I have to let you go."

He stared at me, his face a mixture of anger and disbelief. "This isn't fair. You don't get to decide what's best for me."

I gently pried his hands away. "I'm sorry, Richard," was all I could say before turning my back, unable to watch him walk away.

"You're a coward!" he spat before storming out.. The door slammed and in the deafening silence that followed, I crumbled. I collapsed onto the floor, sobbing in a way I hadn't allowed myself to before.

Had I made a mistake?

Would he come back, burst through the door, and tell me I was wrong, that we belonged together?

A few moments later, a knock at the door sent my heart racing. I scrambled to my feet, quickly wiping my face as I rushed to open it. For a second, I hoped it was Richard, that he had come back.

But when I opened the door, it wasn't him.

It was Mr. Young.

I wasn't sure why, but I felt a wave of disappointment.

"I was told I can find you in here." he said.

I barely had the energy for this.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Young, but now's not a good time." I said, my voice hoarse.

"I know," Mr. Young replied, his expression unreadable. "But I have something important to tell you."

I exhaled sharply, stepping aside. "Make it quick."

He stepped inside, his eyes briefly scanning the barely furnished apartment before settling on me. "It's not something I wanted to discuss over the phone," he said, his tone serious.

Before I could close the door behind him, it burst open, slamming against the wall. Richard stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling heavily, his gaze flicking between me and Mr. Young.

His expression darkened. "What the hell are you doing here?" He asked Mr. Young., sharp and demanding

"That's none of your business." Mr. Young rebuffed.

"The hell it isn't," Richard snapped, stepping forward like he was ready to fight. He turned to me, his voice edged with disbelief. "Carl, what is he doing here?"

I rubbed a hand over my face, exhausted. "Richard, just go."

His jaw clenched, fists tightening at his sides. "No. Not until you tell me what's going on."

"Nothing that concerns you." Mr. Young's voice remained calm, but there was a warning beneath it.

Richard let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Right. So you're just showing up at Carl's apartment in the middle of the day for nothing?" His gaze flickered back to me, broken and searching. "Is this why you pushed me away? Because of him?"

I closed my eyes for a second, steadying myself. "It's not like that, Richard."

"Then tell me what the hell is going on," he demanded. His voice cracked slightly, but he covered it up with anger. "Because right now, it looks like you couldn't wait to replace me."

I winced at his words. They were unfair, but I didn't have the energy to argue.

"I told you, Richard. We're done."

His breath hitched, like the words physically hurt him. "You're really doing this?"

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I need you to go."

For a moment, he just stood there, waiting for me to take it back. To tell him I didn't mean it.

But I stayed silent.

Richard's jaw tightened. His lips pressed into a thin line, and then, without another word, he turned and walked out.

The door shut behind him with a hollow finality.

I exhaled slowly, then turned back to Mr. Young. "This better be important."

"You might want to sit down." he said.

I didn't move. "I'd rather stand."

He drew in a breath, his hands clasped behind his back. "Do you remember your mother ever speaking about your biological father?"

The question caught me off guard. First there was the letter from Mr. Preston, now this. Maybe I should have opened that envelope after all. My mother had rarely mentioned him, and when she did, it was always vague—a fleeting comment, a shadow of a man who wasn't there when I was born. "No," I said carefully. "Not really. Why?"

He paused, searching for the right words. "Carl... I'm your father."

Everything went quiet, as if the sound had been drained from the room, leaving only a heavy, ringing silence. I stared at him, trying to process what he had just said. "That's not possible," I finally said. "You must be joking."

He didn't laugh. His face remained serious. "I'm not," he said and there was a hint of regret in it "Your mother and I... we were together a long time ago. Things were complicated."

He stopped briefly, his eyes focused as he collected his thoughts. "I felt this connection the night I met you. There was something familiar about you, but I couldn't place it. Then, I saw the photo of your mother that your cat knocked over, and I began to suspect something."

I shook my head, "No. no no. This can't be right."

"I understand how this must sound," he spoke gently as if trying to ease the shock. "But it's the truth and the DNA test confirmed it."

"A DNA test?" I repeated, my voice rising. "How did you even manage to get a sample?"

"I... I'm sorry," he said, his voice apologetic. "I had to be sure and so I took it from the spoon you used at the polo lunch. "

I stiffened. "You what?"

"I know it's wrong, but I needed confirmation," he said, eyes steady yet filled with regret. "She never told me she was pregnant, but I always had a feeling. And now that I know for certain, I wanted to tell you myself."

I took a step back, my mind spinning. This couldn't be real. This man—this stranger—wasn't my father. He couldn't be. And yet, as I looked at him, I noticed the similarities I hadn't seen before. His features, even the color of his eyes. It was like looking into a mirror of what I might become.

I turned away, my head spinning with a mix of anger, confusion, and hurt. They all swirled together, threatening to overwhelm me.

"I'm sorry, but I need you to leave right now." I said, my voice cold and firm.

He didn't argue or  try to defend himself. Instead, he simply nodded. "I understand. I don't expect you to forgive me or to welcome me into your life. But I wanted you to know the truth." He paused, then placed his business card on the table. "And if you ever feel ready to talk, the invitation to lunch still stands."

"Goodbye, son," he said, and left.

I exhaled slowly, trying to clear my head. I needed a moment to think Everything was coming at me too fast, and I couldn't keep up.

*****

The days dragged on, and I spent them curled up on my mattress, rotting, surrounded by untouched boxes and delivered pieces of furniture. Stacks of takeout containers piled up on the counter.

I cried until no tears were left. My phone lay dead on the table, and I didn't bother checking it. It didn't matter if I missed a call or a message. Nothing mattered anymore.

The apartment was dark. I'd kept the curtains drawn for days, maybe longer. I didn't really know. Time had lost its meaning. The only light came from the flickering TV in the corner, but I wasn't watching it. It was just background noise, something to fill the silence.

The air was thick with the scent of old food and unwashed clothes. Empty coffee cups and crumpled tissues cluttered the coffee table, along with a half-empty bottle of wine I'd opened days ago. I didn't even like wine, and I didn't know why I bothered buying it.

I sat on the couch, wrapped in the same blanket I'd been wearing for what felt like weeks. My hair was a mess, and I couldn't remember the last time I showered or changed my clothes. I didn't see the point.

The days blurred together.

Sometimes, I'd wander into the kitchen, open the fridge, stare at its contents for a moment, then close it again—not because I was hungry, but because I couldn't remember the last time I ate anything that wasn't cold or straight from a box.

Other times, I sat by the window, peeking through the curtains at the world outside. People walked by, laughing and talking, living their lives as if nothing had changed. It made me feel even more alone.

The nights were the worst. That's when the silence felt heaviest and the emptiness seemed to swallow me whole. I missed his touch. Damn it, I missed him.

I don't know how long I've been like this. Days? Weeks?  It didn't matter. All I knew was that the world kept moving, and I was stuck here, in this empty apartment, in this empty life, wondering if I'd ever feel whole again. I'm pathetic. I know.

Then one day, the hurt just... stopped. Leaving nothing behind but emptiness. I didn't know what to do with it at first, but I forced myself to clean the apartment and take a shower. It wasn't much, but it was something. A small step forward.

That's when I finally gathered the courage to pick up the envelope my mother had left me. My hands trembled as I opened it, and inside was a letter.

Dear Carl,

If you're reading this, it means I'm no longer here, and you've asked Mr. Preston about your father. First, I want you to know that I loved you more than anything in this world. You were my greatest joy, and I'm so proud of the person you've become.

I never told you about your father because I wanted to protect you. His name is Alexander Young, and while he wasn't ready to be part of our lives, I hope you won't blame him. It wasn't your fault, Carl, and it wasn't because you weren't enough. Some people just meet at the wrong place and the wrong time.

If you ever need help in the future and I'm no longer here, you can reach out to him. I hope he'll be there for you in ways he couldn't be before. But no matter what, remember that you are strong, loved, and capable of building a good life on your own.

With all my heart,

Mom

As I finished reading, a picture slipped out of the envelope. It was a faded photo of them, both young and smiling, frozen in a moment I'd never been part of. One last time, I let myself cry, but this time it was different. The pain wasn't severe nor suffocating; it was duller, calmer, like the ache of a wound that had finally stopped bleeding leaving, leaving nothing but a scar.

For the first time, I understood what acceptance felt like after grief.

Afterward, I charged my phone and dialed the number on Mr. Young's calling card. Or should I say my father's?

We met at an outdoor restaurant. The silence between us was heavy and awkward. I didn't know where to start. How do you begin a conversation with someone who's been a stranger your entire life?

Finally, he cleared his throat. "Thank you for agreeing to meet me," he said, his voice calm but careful.

I nodded, my throat dry. "I wasn't sure if I would," I admitted. "But... I needed to know about you."

He looked down at his hands, his fingers tracing the edge of the menu. "And I'd like to know you too."

The waiter came by then, breaking the tension momentarily as we ordered. When we were alone again, I asked, "Why did you invite me for lunch?"

"Because you're my son," he said simply. "I want to know you better."

I took a deep breath, then asked the question that had been burning in my mind. "Do you have other children?"

"No," he replied without hesitation. "Your mother was the only woman I ever loved."

I let out a hollow laugh. "And I'm guessing you want me to work for you because you want me to take over your business?"

"If that's what you want," he said evenly.

"And what? Be shoved into an arranged marriage like you were?" The words came out more bitter than I intended, but I couldn't help it.

He looked at me, his expression gentle, like he understood exactly what I was feeling.

"No," he said firmly. "My father is gone. I run the company now. And as much as I want you to have what's rightfully yours, I want you to be happy."

"I—" I swallowed, unable to process it all. "I need time."

Mr. Young nodded. "Take all the time you need. But if there's anything I can give you right now, just name it."

I closed my eyes briefly before meeting his gaze. "I want to be as far away from all this as possible."

Mr. Young looked at me carefully, then nodded.

I exhaled, feeling like I was standing at the edge of something vast and unknown. I had no idea what to do next.

All I know is that I can't stay here.