chapter 6
801 Words
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Daisy hadn’t meant to call him.
It was just past midnight. The file sat beside her laptop, untouched for the past two hours. And yet she couldn’t stop staring at it—as if something in the inked lines might finally make sense of the man who'd managed to bury his brother’s death under layers of power and pain.
Her finger hovered over his name in her phone.
It was a bad idea. A reckless one.
She hit call anyway.
One ring.
Two.
“Daisy?”
His voice was low. Rough.
“Did I wake you?” she asked.
A soft exhale. “I wasn’t sleeping.”
Of course he wasn’t. Men like Charles didn’t rest. They paced the edges of their conscience.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about the file,” she admitted. “About your brother.”
Silence.
Then, “Do you want to talk?”
“…Yes.”
“Come up.”
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The elevator ride to his penthouse felt like a confession in motion.
Daisy had never been here—not in this space where the man behind the empire actually lived. The doors opened to black marble, soft gold lighting, and an entire wall of windows showing the glittering skyline like a painting that never stopped breathing.
He stood at the far end, sleeves rolled up, glass of scotch in hand.
No jacket. No tie. Just Charles Robert in raw form.
She stepped in, unsure of her footing.
“I didn’t come to interrogate you,” she said.
He looked over his shoulder. “I didn’t think you did.”
She walked toward him, nerves buzzing.
“I don’t understand how you live with it,” she said, honest and quiet.
He took a sip. “You don’t. You just get used to the ache.”
She studied him—his sharp jaw, the tension in his hands, the quiet storm behind his eyes.
“You ever tell anyone?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not even my father. He was overseas when it happened. I cleaned it up before he came back. Signed the papers. Issued the silence orders.”
“And then?”
“I rebuilt everything,” he said. “Made the company stronger. Untouchable. For him. For me. For the illusion.”
The word illusion hung between them like fog.
Daisy stepped closer. “But at what cost?”
His eyes flicked to hers. “You tell me.”
And there it was again—that challenge, laced with something deeper. Not anger. Not pride. Just… fear.
She swallowed. “You didn’t just bury your brother. You buried yourself.”
Charles looked away.
“I didn’t want you to see that file,” he said. “But I knew eventually… you would.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t stop,” he said simply. “Even when you should.”
“And you hide,” she countered. “Even when you shouldn’t.”
That cracked something. He let out a soft, bitter laugh.
“You really think you’ve got me all figured out, Almond?”
She gave him a look. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?”
“Because when you say it, it feels like armor.”
He stepped toward her then—slow, deliberate, until there was barely an inch between them.
“And when I say Daisy?”
Her breath hitched.
“It feels like truth,” she whispered.
The air shifted.
He raised a hand—slow, hesitant—and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His touch lingered a second too long. Her heart pounded like thunder in her chest.
“You make me forget,” he murmured.
“Forget what?”
“That I’m supposed to be in control.”
Their eyes met, and something snapped.
Not a kiss.
Not yet.
But something more dangerous.
A want neither of them were ready for.
“I should go,” she breathed, the words trembling.
“You don’t have to.”
“But I should.”
He didn’t stop her. Didn’t pull her back.
But his voice followed her to the door.
“You saw a part of me no one else has,” he said. “Don’t use it to destroy me.”
She turned.
“I won’t,” she said. “But I won’t let it go either.”
Their eyes locked—full of things they couldn’t say.
And then she left.
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Back in her apartment, Daisy sat on her bed, trying to slow the chaos inside her.
She’d touched a nerve in Charles Robert. And he’d touched something just as raw in her.
The truth wasn’t simple. Neither was love. And whatever this was between them… it wasn’t over.
Not even close.
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- Writer
