Fractured Promises

Chapter 21: Lingering Shadows

STANLEY

Stanley sat at the head of the long mahogany table, the weight of his family's empire pressing on his shoulders. Financial reports, strategies, and projections were laid out before him, but his mind was elsewhere.

He had learned the art of hiding his true thoughts. Every nod, every carefully constructed response masked the chaos within him. It was expected duty demanded composure.

The discussion around him had turned heated—figures were being thrown around, decisions debated—but his mind remained elsewhere.

Lily.

Her name was a ghost in his thoughts, haunting him. He had spent the morning watching her from a distance, memorizing every flicker of her smile, every movement. She looked happy—or at least, she was trying to be.

And he hated that he wasn’t a part of it anymore.

“Stanley,” a sharp voice cut through his thoughts. His mother.

Eleanor Caldwell sat poised across from him, her ice-blue gaze piercing, her manicured fingers tapping impatiently against the polished mahogany table. She had long mastered the art of appearing composed while simultaneously striking fear into anyone who dared challenge her.

“You haven’t said a word in fifteen minutes.”

Stanley exhaled slowly, forcing himself to sit straighter. “Because I’m listening.”

His father, Richard Caldwell, let out a tired sigh through the speakerphone, his presence looming from miles away. “Then perhaps you’d care to contribute instead of brooding like a lovesick fool.”

A muscle in Stanley’s jaw twitched.

They knew.

Of course, they knew. His family had eyes everywhere, and his distraction over the past months had not gone unnoticed.

The senior board members exchanged glances, uncomfortable with the growing tension.

Stanley forced a smirk, leaning back in his chair. “I wasn’t aware our quarterly financial strategies were now tied to my personal life.”

Eleanor’s gaze narrowed. “Everything about you, is tied to this family, Stanley. Your name is not just yours—it carries weight. And if your… distractions are interfering with your ability to lead, then yes, it becomes our concern.”

“Distractions?” Stanley repeated, his voice dangerously smooth.

His father folded his arms. “She’s not one of us, Stanley.”

The words were quiet but sharp, cutting deeper than any blade.

Stanley clenched his fists beneath the table. He had expected this. Had known it was coming. But the sheer audacity of it made his blood boil.

“You don’t even know her,” he said, his voice low.

“I know enough,” Richard replied. “She’s from a different world. One that will never understand ours. And the longer you cling to this… fantasy, the harder it will be to untangle yourself when the time comes.”

Stanley forced a chuckle, though there was no humour in it. “And what exactly is it you’re worried about? That she’ll stain the pristine Caldwell name?”

Eleanor leaned forward. “We’re worried about you making decisions based on emotion rather than reason.”

His patience snapped.

“You mean, based on love,” he corrected, his voice colder than ever before. “Something this family wouldn’t understand if it hit them in the damn face.”

The room fell into silence.

Eleanor’s expression didn’t waver, but her gaze darkened. “Love doesn’t change the fact that you have obligations, Stanley. This hospital, this empire—they are yours to uphold.”

Richard nodded. “And sooner or later, you will have to make a choice.”

A choice.

As if it were that simple.

Stanley stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as he buttoned his suit jacket. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, but his voice remained steady.

“I already made my choice,” he said, turning toward the door.

Eleanor’s voice stopped him.

“Then let’s hope, for your sake, it’s the right one.”

Stanley didn’t respond. He simply walked out, fists clenched, knowing damn well that if he had to fight his own family to be with Lily—he would.

Later that day, Stanley sat alone in his office, staring at his phone.

Message sent.

Message left on read.

The rejection stung. He shoved the phone into his pocket and exhaled sharply, frustration crawling beneath his skin.

Lily was everywhere—in the halls, in his thoughts, in the empty space beside him at night. Watching her laugh with Zain was pure punishment, but it was his fault.

He had kept her at a distance. Not because he didn’t trust her, but because he was too much of a coward to risk losing her completely.

And now, every stolen glance was a reminder of what he had lost.

She had moved on. But had she?

His thoughts betrayed him.

His mind wandered, sliding into a place where the boundaries of reality dissolved.

In his imagination, he wasn't the heir to an empire, or a man weighed down by secrets.

He was just Stanley, lost in the heat of her body.

He imagined pulling her into his office. The door locking behind them. His fingers tracing the soft line of her jaw, then sliding down, unbuttoning her blouse one agonizing button at a time.

Her body pressed against his, mouths clashing in a kiss that spoke of hunger and regret. Her gasps filling the silence as he lifted her onto the desk, papers scattering beneath her.

He would taste every inch of her, devour her until she writhed beneath him, claiming her once more as his own.

Oh, he could almost feel her now.

The warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips, the soft, urgent moans as he traced the line of her hips, the curve of her waist. His hands would slide down, exploring the delicate expanse of her thighs, pulling her closer, savouring the anticipation that trembled between them.

He'd worship her body with his mouth, tasting every inch, hearing her whisper his name with a desperation that set his blood on fire.

"Stanley," she would breathe, gasping when his lips found the sensitive hollow of her throat. She'd arch beneath him, pressing closer, her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him deeper, harder.

Her body would move with his, a rhythm that stole all rational thought. He would claim her, possess her, driving them both to the edge where pleasure burned hot and fierce.

In his mind, she was wild and free, calling his name in a crescendo of need. Her cries would echo off the walls, a symphony of their shared hunger. Her back would arch as she lost herself in him, nails biting into his shoulders, her body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure consumed her.

His heart pounded as the image seized him, the depth of his desire tightening through him. The tension in his body was sharp, painful, leaving him on the brink of unravelling.

And then a sharp voice pulled him back.

He shook the thoughts from his head, guilt and frustration mixing like poison in his veins. Why did she haunt him like this?

"Stanley?" David's hand clapped onto his shoulder, pulling him from the dangerous spiral of fantasy.

David’s voice broke through his torment. "You were somewhere else."

"You're torturing yourself, man."

Stanley turned, startled. "What?"

Stanley blinked, fighting to steady his breath. His throat was dry, his body tense. He forced a smile, but it felt hollow.

"Just thinking," he muttered.

David crossed his arms, his gaze steady but there was understanding in his gaze.

"I see how you look at her. You're killing yourself over this. You need to let her go, Stanley. Before it breaks you."

Stanley swallowed hard, bitterness lacing his words. "I can't."

"You think holding on to a ghost will change anything? She's moved on. Maybe you should too."

Stanley’s jaw clenched. "It's not that easy."

David sighed, his voice softening. "No, it's not. But ask yourself this—are you holding on because you love her, or because you can't stand the idea of losing?"