Chapter 4
1180words
He hurled his phone against the marble wall. The expensive device shattered with a crisp crack, its screen instantly webbed with fractures.
But it changed nothing.
That photo—Evelyn's blindingly happy smile—had already burned into his retina, haunting him whenever he closed his eyes.
He yanked his tie loose, stalked to the bar, and poured a double whiskey. Ice cubes clinked chaotically against glass, echoing his heartbeat. He downed the liquor, hoping the burn would scorch away her image.
But the alcohol only unlocked more memories.
He remembered Evelyn laughing like that before their engagement. She'd excitedly held up two tickets to the Maldives while he worked: "Richard, let's take a vacation—just us, just for a week."
How had he responded?
He hadn't even looked up from his screen, just waved dismissively.
"Don't be silly, Evelyn. I don't have time. After the IPO, you can go wherever you want."
Only now did he recall her fleeting disappointment, like cold water dousing her enthusiasm. He hadn't cared then. Her feelings had seemed trivial compared to the empire they were building.
He remembered when Evelyn had leveraged her father's connections for a difficult acquisition, enduring mockery from her stuffy relatives to help him clear his biggest hurdle. She'd returned home late, exhaustion and hurt evident on her face. And he, like a boss reviewing completed work, had merely patted her shoulder: "Well done, Evelyn. I knew you could handle it."
He'd treated her dedication as duty. He'd treated her love as a quantifiable asset serving his ambition.
He'd believed he'd shaped her, transforming an unworldly young woman into a calm, decisive partner who managed his problems. But now, staring at that photograph, a cruel truth struck him—he hadn't shaped her; he'd worn her down. With his own hands, he'd gradually extinguished the light in her eyes.
And now another man had effortlessly rekindled that radiance.
A sharp, excruciating pain—jealousy mixed with remorse—churned in his gut until he thought he might vomit.
***
For the next week, Richard lived in fragmented, agonizing hell.
By day, he played the all-powerful tycoon, efficiently managing his empire. By night, he became a pathetic stalker, obsessively searching for every scrap of information about Evelyn and Julian.
He studied photos of them walking dogs in Central Park—Evelyn in simple workout clothes, bare-faced, smiling like a child.
He scrutinized images of them leaving a bookstore, Julian carrying a bag of books in one hand while naturally holding hers with the other.
He devoured articles describing them as a "match made in heaven" and "kindred spirits." Reports claimed Julian had declined major roles just to spend more time with Evelyn.
Accompany.
The word pierced Richard's heart with surgical precision. How long since he'd properly "accompanied" Evelyn? Five years? Seven? He couldn't remember.
***
Amid these torments, he attended the "Innovator of the Year" award ceremony.
He occupied the most prominent seat, surrounded by perfumed elegance and sycophantic smiles. Yet he felt like an outsider, numbly scrolling through his phone to a newly discovered photo of Evelyn and Julian at last week's charity gala. She held his arm, head resting lightly on his shoulder—intimate, natural.
"...Now, with our warmest applause, let's welcome this year's Innovator—Sterling Power founder, Mr. Richard Sterling!"
The host's voice yanked him back to reality. He pocketed his phone, instantly donning his successful-person smile, and strode onstage to thunderous applause.
He accepted the heavy trophy and delivered his meticulously crafted acceptance speech from memory. His voice steady, his posture elegant, he thanked all the right people.
But inside, he felt only emptiness.
He gazed at the adoring faces below, feeling like he was watching a silent film. The applause, cheers, congratulations—all seemed distant, separated by thick glass.
He'd won every honor he'd ever dreamed of.
Yet what he felt wasn't joy but overwhelming, unprecedented loneliness.
At the celebration, he moved like a marionette, mechanically clinking glasses and making small talk. Everyone congratulated him, but no one truly cared about him—only his company, his stock, what they could extract from him.
"Richard, congrats! Gotta say, you had that same fire from when you and Evelyn started the business together!" slurred a drunk associate.
Someone nearby quickly interrupted, aware he'd crossed a line.
The atmosphere instantly chilled.
Richard couldn't take it anymore. He set down his glass, pushed through the crowd, and fled, muttering something about "not handling alcohol well."
In the car, his driver asked, "Back to Park Avenue, sir?"
Richard leaned back, closed his eyes, and blurted, "No, go to..." He gave the address of the apartment he'd shared with Evelyn years ago.
He snapped back to awareness only when the driver repeated the address in confusion.
"No," he amended tiredly, "Park Avenue."
Why return to that place? That repository of sweet memories—and witness to how he'd destroyed them piece by piece. What would going back change?
Back in his vast, cold penthouse, something in Richard finally broke completely.
Like a caged animal, he paced frantically before grabbing his new replacement phone. With trembling fingers, he found the name etched into his soul.
Evelyn.
He needed to contact her. Had to contact her. Needed to demand why she'd done this to him. Needed to tell her he regretted everything.
He began typing, pride and despair warring in his mind.
"I saw your photo."
No—too stalkerish. Delete.
"I miss you."
No—too weak. He couldn't be first to surrender. Delete.
"We need to talk."
This seemed appropriately calm and restrained. He stared at it for a long time, but ultimately couldn't suppress the surge of regret. He added the pathetic admission:
"We need to talk. I made a mistake."
He closed his eyes like a prisoner awaiting judgment and pressed send.
Time crawled. One second. Two seconds. One minute. Ten minutes.
On screen, the blue message sat alone like a letter to the dead, sinking like a stone into the sea.
Had she seen it? Was she ignoring him, or had she not seen it at all?
The uncertainty tortured him worse than rejection. Unable to bear the waiting, his fingers clumsily tapped out another message.
"Evelyn, please."
He abandoned his last shred of dignity and pressed send.
But this time, no blue "sent" bubble appeared.
Instead, a small red notification appeared, carrying infinite mockery:
"Message failed to send."
Richard's pupils contracted. Disbelieving, he tried again.
"Message failed to send."
Frantic, he scrambled for the landline and dialed her number from memory. Instead of Evelyn's voice, a mechanical female recording answered:
"Sorry, the number you dialed is not in service..."
Not in service.
Message failed to send.
She had blocked him.
She had completely erased him from her world. Like garbage to be disposed of. Like something that had never existed.
Richard closed his eyes, strength draining from his body.
He had conquered the world, yet was treated as trash by the only person who mattered.
The panic finally consumed him completely. Curled beneath the massive window overlooking his empire, he released his first uncontrollable, desperate sob—like a child abandoned by the entire world.
