Chapter 22
Alexander felt nothing–not joy, not sorrow. Just emptiness.
At the top of Cresthaven’s high society, with wealth, status, and power at his fingertips, he found himself hollowed out and exhausted. He transferred all of his assets to Emily, hoping to grant her a life untouched by worry. He handed his longtime assistant a generous severance and early retirement, tying off the last threads of the world he’d built.
As he stood in the vast estate once filled with ambition and grandeur, memories of Emily came flooding in–her wounded back, her haunted eyes, the cold finality in her voice. It hit him then: he had never truly paid for what he’d done.
Stripping off his shirt, he picked up a rattan cane and brought it down on his own back with unflinching force. Again. And again. Flesh tore, blood spilled.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Emily, my street girl”
*I love you.”
With every strike, he repeated her name like a prayer, like a plea. Apologies spilled from his lips as blood soaked his skin. Cresthaven without her was unbearable–even for a single day.
Dragging his broken body through the pain, Alexander retraced every place they had once been together–sidewalks, parks, alleyways–chasing ghosts of their happier moments, chasing the only version of himself that had ever truly lived.
Meanwhile, far away in Pinevale, Emily had begun to rebuild her life.
She opened a small music studio, teaching violin to children and adults. Her new violin a gift from Joshua–fit perfectly in her hands. As a quiet thank–you, she gave him a watch.
She had always assumed Joshua was a wanderer without roots. Later, she learned he was once the heir to the powerful Brown family of Cresthaven family that, before emigrating, had rivaled even the mighty Harrington dynasty. But none of that mattered to her. He had never used his past to win her favor. He simply stayed–calm, constant, asking for nothing
Her days grew warmer, brighter. Slowly, she emerged from the shadows of what once was.
Then, one sunny afternoon in her garden, coffee in hand and sunlight on her skin, the past found her again
Alexander’s lawyer arrived, briefcase in hand. “Miss Harper,” he said, gently placing an envelope on the table, “Mr. Harrington has passed. He left everything to you. These are the transfer documents.”
Emily took a sip of coffee, her voice steady. “Donate it all. Start a foundation for children and women. Make sure no one else has to grow up as I did no more street girls.”
The lawyer nodded solemnly, then added, “There’s one more thing‘
He placed a thick photo album on the table. “He spent his last weeks retracing your steps, visiting every place you once went together. He was gathering memories. He slipped and fell from a cliff while trying to retrieve this album.”
He lingered a moment, then turned to go.
Before he reached the gate, he heard the soft thud of the album landing in the trash bin.
Emily didn’t look back.
Even in death, she couldn’t forgive him.
She drained the last of her coffee and walled back into the house, her expression unreadable, her heart unchanged.
Alexander–farewell
Let’s not meet in the next life either.
