CHAPTER 4
1102 Words
Victoria unlocked the apartment door quietly, easing it shut behind her with practiced care. The lights were dim, the air heavy with the familiar scent of antiseptic wipes and reheated soup. She slipped off her shoes by the door and stood still for a moment, letting the silence settle. Her shoulders sagged as the weight of the day finally found somewhere to land.
“Mama?” The small voice came from the hallway, soft and tentative.
Victoria turned just in time to catch Elisa as she padded toward her in mismatched socks, dark curls wild around her face. Victoria dropped her bag and knelt, opening her arms. “I’m here,” she whispered.
Elisa collided with her, arms wrapping tightly around her neck. “You’re late.”
“I know,” Victoria murmured, pressing a kiss into her daughter’s hair. “I’m sorry.”
Behind Elisa, Ethan stood half-hidden by the doorway, one hand gripping the frame, the other clutching his inhaler. His eyes were too big for his thin face, always watching, always measuring. Victoria held out a hand. “Hey, my brave boy.”
He hesitated only a second before stepping forward. She drew him close, careful of the slight tremor in his chest, the fragility she knew better than her own heartbeat. “You okay?” she asked gently. He nodded. “I waited for you.”
Guilt twisted sharply inside her. “I know,” she said softly. “Thank you for waiting.”
She ushered them into the living room, settling onto the worn couch with one child on either side of her. Elisa immediately launched into a rapid recounting of her day—school, a spelling test, a disagreement over crayons—while Ethan leaned quietly against Victoria’s shoulder, his breathing a little shallow.
Victoria listened, nodding, murmuring responses, but her mind lagged behind, still stuck in a glass office forty floors above the city.
Tristan’s voice. His eyes. The way silence around him felt like pressure on a wound.
She forced herself back into the room. “How was the hospital today?” she asked Ethan.
He shrugged. “They took blood.” Elisa scowled. “They always take blood. I told them to stop.”
Victoria smiled faintly. “And did they listen?” “No,” Elisa said indignantly. “Doctors never listen.” Victoria hugged them both a little tighter.
After dinner—simple pasta, eaten slowly—she helped Ethan with his evening medication, counting the pills twice even though she never forgot. She watched him swallow, watched the slight wince he tried to hide, and brushed her thumb gently over his cheek.
“You’re doing great,” she told him.
“I know,” he said solemnly. “I’m strong.”
“You are,” she agreed.
Later, tucked into bed between them, Victoria read from a book Elisa had nearly memorized. Ethan’s breathing evened out gradually, the rise and fall of his chest a fragile reassurance. Elisa yawned exaggeratedly, fighting sleep until it claimed her mid-sentence.
Victoria sat there long after both children drifted off, back against the headboard, staring into the dim room.
Her phone buzzed softly on the nightstand. She flinched. For a brief, terrifying second, she thought of him. But it was only a reminder—another appointment, another bill.
She exhaled shakily and lay back, staring at the ceiling. “I’ll be okay,” she whispered into the dark. She didn’t know if she meant herself or them.
Victoria didn't know when she finally fallen asleep but woke sometime after midnight, heart racing, the echo of Tristan’s voice lingering in her dreams. She lay still, listening to the soft sounds of her children sleeping, grounding herself in their presence.
She slipped out of bed quietly and stood by the window, city lights shimmering below. Somewhere out there, he was awake. The thought came unbidden, unwelcome. She wrapped her arms around herself, resisting the urge to reach for a past she couldn’t afford to touch. “You’re not allowed,” she whispered. “Not anymore.”
Behind her, Ethan stirred. She hurried back to the bed, sitting beside him, brushing his hair back gently. He murmured something unintelligible and settled again. Victoria stayed there, watching them both, heart aching with a love that hurt and healed in equal measure.
Across the city, Tristan Moore stood at the bar of his penthouse, staring at a glass of amber liquid like it had personally betrayed him.
The bottle was half-empty. He poured another drink anyway.
The penthouse was immaculate, silent, all clean lines and cold luxury. No photos. No warmth. No evidence that anyone ever truly lived there. He preferred it that way. Order kept things quiet. Silence kept things manageable.
Tonight, neither helped. He downed the whiskey in one sharp swallow, barely registering the burn. Another followed. And another.
It wasn’t enough.
Victoria’s face kept intruding—calm, restrained, infuriatingly composed. The way she looked at him like he was a stranger she was determined to survive. She had always been good at that.
He slammed the glass down harder than necessary and turned away from the bar, pacing the length of the living room. The city glittered beyond the windows, distant and indifferent. He’d thought hiring her would give him control. Instead, it had ripped something open.
Tristan dragged a hand through his hair and laughed under his breath, a sharp, humorless sound. Professional distance, she’d said. As if distance had ever been the problem.
He poured another drink and sank onto the edge of the couch, shoulders hunched, elbows braced against his knees. The alcohol dulled the edges of his thoughts but refused to silence them.
Why now? Why walk back into his life after all these years?
He closed his eyes and saw flashes he didn’t want—late nights, laughter he hadn’t heard since, the quiet way she used to watch him like she was memorizing his existence.
His phone lay face down on the table. He didn’t touch it. There was no one to call. No one who would answer if he did.
Another drink disappeared. His chest felt tight, constricted by something dangerously close to loneliness.
He’d built an empire to outrun it. Tonight, it had caught up.
And somewhere deep beneath the anger, beneath the liquor and the walls he’d built so carefully, a thought surfaced—quiet, dangerous, and impossible to ignore. Victoria Blair hadn’t returned unchanged. Neither had he.
And whatever lay between them now was no longer something he could drown at the bottom of a glass.
- Writer
