The CEO’s redemption

Chapter Four

KIAN.

The private jet touched down onto the tarmac, its sleek body gleaming faintly in the sun. I descended the steps with my usual air of quiet authority, adjusting my cufflinks as I approached the waiting black Mercedes, my face as neutral as ever. The driver opened the door with a slight bow, and I slid into the cool leather interior, my phone already in hand.

With the car picking up speed, city lights became a blur outside the windows. I fired up my phone, ready to skim through what was surely a flood of emails and missed calls. The device buzzed incessantly, a deluge of notifications coming through. I was about to dismiss them when a string of missed calls from Hudgton caught my eye. Rarely did my housekeeper call more than once-neither did anyone, for that matter-more than twice.

My brow furrowed as I opened the voicemail log. Hudgton's voice came through, clipped and urgent:

"Mr. Calloway, please call back as soon as possible."

"Sir, this is serious. Mrs. Calloway is at the hospital."

"Mr. Calloway, where are you? Camille needs you."

My chest tightened, a cold wave of dread washing over me. My thumb hesitated over Hudgton's number before tapping open the most recent text:

“We’re back at the estate now. Please come home.”

I frowned, my apprehension deepening. Hospital? Camille? What had happened? I almost told the driver to change course to the hospital but stopped myself. If they were back home, it wasn’t an emergency anymore—or so I told himself. Whatever it was, I would deal with it when I got there.

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The Mercedes pulled into the circular driveway of the Calloway Estate. I stepped out, my polished shoes crunching faintly against the gravel. The house loomed before him, its grandeur suddenly feeling cold and foreboding.

As I entered, the warmth of the interior did little to ease the growing knot in my stomach. I stopped short when I saw her—Camille—sitting on the living room couch.

She sat stiffly, her back ramrod straight, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her face was pale, bare of makeup, and devoid of the usual soft light he was accustomed to seeing. The sight of her hit him harder than he expected. There was an envelope on the table before her, the only thing separating them.

"Kian," she said in a low voice.

She didn't say anything for a few moments, staring down at the floor. She gradually raised her head, and her eyes that met mine were hollow, empty. She pushed the chair backward and stood up slowly, turning to face him. "You…" She closed her eyes and took a quick, sharp breath.

I was taken aback. There was something seriously wrong, but I said nothing, waiting.

“Where were you?" she asked, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

I stared at her for a moment, apprehension building in me, before I spoke, "I was in Asia," my tone measured and wary.

"For what?”

I hesitated, my mind going to the truth, but no… I couldn't tell her now, if at all. So I went for a response that wouldn't reveal the truth. "Work," I said finally, my voice devoid of emotion.

Wrong answer.

Camille laughed, a sharp, bitter sound slicing through the air. "Work," she repeated, shaking her head with a sharp smile. "Of course.”

She jabbed a finger into my chest without warning, and I tensed, my alarm spiraling upwards.

"I lost the baby," she whispered, shaking. "Our baby. On Saturday."

The words cut into me like a physical blow, my well-made mask cracking for an instant. My mouth opened, but words deserted me.

"I miscarried, Kian!" she screamed, her voice breaking, raw with emotion. "I was in that hospital, terrified and bleeding and alone, and you—" Her voice cracked as tears streamed down her cheeks. "You were gone! You left me!"

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came. Inside, a storm of guilt, sorrow, and self-loathing raged, but outwardly, I remained frozen, unable to bridge the chasm between us.

“You abandoned me!" she screamed as she took a step closer to me. "How could you, Kian? How could you leave me like that?"

"I…" I tried to speak, but the right words, the right reactions…I didn't know what they were.

"Tell me why! Tell me f*****g why you'd do that to me!" she yelled as her fists pounded against my chest. "I've forgiven you for so much, so much, Kian. But this? This I can't forgive.”

Her voice broke into sobs as she continued to hit me, her strength ebbing with each blow. "I needed you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I needed my husband, and you weren't there."

I stood wordlessly, absorbing each of her blows and letting them fuel my guilt and self-hate as my heart shattered with every word. I wanted to tell her the truth, to explain why I'd been gone, but the words wouldn't come. The walls I'd been born with, and those I'd built, the ones that had protected me for so long now imprisoned me.

When she finally finished, she stepped back, wiping at her tears with shaking hands. Without another word, she turned to the table, grabbed the envelope, and pulled out the papers inside.

"Sign them," she said in a shaking but final voice.

My eyes fell on the divorce papers; the sight of them crushing me. I opened my mouth again, desperate to say something, anything, but nothing came.

"Sign them, Kian," she repeated, thrusting the papers at me.

My hand moved mechanically to pick up the pen. My heart screamed at me to stop, to fight for her, while my mind was telling me that it was for the best. She didn't need more pain. She'd lost her art, her baby. I couldn't let her have more losses. She'd be happier away from me. I'd never deserved her in the first place.

With a heavy heart, I scrawled my name across the line.

Camille snatched the papers back, her expression a mixture of fury and heartbreak. “I’ll be gone by tonight,” she said, her voice trembling. Then she turned and stormed upstairs, her sobs echoing faintly in the empty house.

I stood rooted in place, the silence suffocating me like a weight. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hudgton standing in the doorway, his face an etching of sorrow. The older man didn't say a word, but his eyes relayed all that needed to be said: I know why you are this way, I understand you, and I'm sorry.

I couldn't bear it. I turned and calmly climbed the stairs to my room, closing the door behind me. Slowly, I slid down to the floor, burying my face in my hands.

The storm of emotions I'd suppressed for so long crashed over me—guilt, sorrow, self-loathing. My chest heaved, but my face remained blank, save for one silent tear that slid down my cheek.