Logan gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles pale against the worn leather as he navigated the quiet streets. Zack’s words echoed in his mind, fragments of last night piecing together. He felt the weight of them pressing down on his chest, but he drove anyway, the hum of the engine filling the silence. The morning sun cast long shadows, the light too sharp for the heaviness clinging to him.
When he pulled into the driveway, Sandy burst out of the house like a storm, her face streaked with tears. She reached him before he could fully step out of the car, throwing her arms around him in a crushing embrace. He froze for a moment, caught off guard by the wetness of her tears soaking into the borrowed shirt.
“Oh, God, Logan!” she cried, her voice breaking. “I was so worried! I called you all night! Are you—are you okay?” She pulled back just enough to cup his face in her hands, her eyes wide and searching. “I didn’t know what to do. I thought… I was so scared something terrible had happened. I wanted to call the police or your dad—”
Logan stiffened, his jaw tightening. “Did you call my dad?” he snapped, his voice sharper than he intended.
Sandy blinked, her lips parting in shock. “Wha—?”
“Sandy, did you call my dad?” he demanded, his tone rising. “You can’t do that. I’m not a teenager. I have responsibilities. I don’t need him meddling—”
“I didn’t!” she interrupted, her voice cracking. “I didn’t call anyone!”
The words hung between them for a moment before Logan exhaled slowly, his shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.” He pulled her back into a hug, his movements stiff and automatic. “I’m fine. I just slept at a friend’s place.”
“A friend?” she asked, her voice uncertain.
“Yeah,” Logan said, stepping back and forcing a small smile. “I had some drinks, didn’t feel great, so I crashed on his couch.”
Sandy’s eyes brimmed with fresh tears, her lips trembling as she tried to speak. “Logan—”
“Everything’s fine,” he cut in quickly, his words clipped. “I’m fine, Sandy. Sorry for scaring you. I’m just late for work.” Without waiting for her response, he turned and jogged into the house.
Inside, Logan moved on autopilot, his body going through the motions even as his mind felt detached. He stripped off Zack’s borrowed clothes,tossing them into a reusable cotton bag, and stepped into the shower. The water was too hot, scalding his skin, but he didn’t adjust it. He scrubbed himself clean, as though he could wash away the heaviness that clung to him, but it lingered, persistent and immovable.
He donned one of his tailored suits, which had somehow become too loose; its crisp lines and polished appearance served as a perfect façade for the chaos hidden underneath. He tied his tie with precision, glanced at his reflection in the mirror, and avoided his own eyes. Picking up the bag of Zack’s clothes, he left the house, calling out a perfunctory “goodbye” to Sandy as he went.
The world outside moved on, indifferent and unyielding. Logan slipped into the current of his life, playing along with a script he had written for himself long ago, one where every line felt hollow and every scene dragged endlessly. As he pulled out of the driveway, the ache in his chest remained, a quiet companion he didn’t know how to part with.
It was one of the busiest days Logan had endured in weeks. His head swam with every step, the pounding hangover from the night before a persistent reminder of his own self-destruction. He had downed so many pills throughout the day that he wondered if it was only a matter of time before his body gave out altogether.
Ada Mae, his efficient and ever-cheerful personal assistant, stepped into his office with her tablet in hand, rattling off updates and schedules. Her voice was light, professional, as though she couldn’t see the exhaustionetched into Logan’s face. She reminded him of upcoming meetings and the flights he’d need to catch next month for a series of business trips with his father across the States.
“Great. Could you email me the flights details?” Logan asked absently, his fingers rubbing his temple.
“Already done, Mr. Vaughn,” she replied with a smile.
“You’re the best, and again, just call me Logan,” he muttered, standing and grabbing his phone. “Oh, can you send some flowers to Sandy? And book her a vacation, something relaxing.”
“Sure. Where this time, Mr. Vaughn?” Ada Mae asked, typing quickly into her tablet.
“Where would you want to go?” Logan asked, not really thinking.
“Hawaii,” she said dreamily, and Logan paled visibly.
“No. No Hawaii,” he said too quickly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “Book something in California. Some fancy hotel. Make it for three or four people, she’ll probably want to bring friends.”
Ada Mae hesitated, glancing at him with a mix of pity and professionalism. “She was in California just a few months ago for her birthday,” she reminded him.
Logan faltered for a moment, the weight of his hollow gestures pressing down on him. “Right,” he said, sighing. “You know what? Just book whatever you think she’d like. A week, maybe more.”
Ada Mae nodded, her sympathetic gaze lingering for just a second longer than Logan could stand before she left. By four o’clock, she’d informed him the flowers had been sent and asked if she could leave early. Logan waved her off with a reminder to enjoy her evening and made a mentalnote to show his appreciation for her loyalty more often, though he knew he probably wouldn’t.
The day bled on, its minutes a blur of meetings and emails. Logan hadn’t eaten breakfast or lunch, but he forced himself to prepare for a late lunch—or early dinner, depending on how you looked at it—with one of his clients. He hated these dinners, despised the charade of pleasantries and small talk. But at least the man he was meeting was neat, punctual, and efficient. The deal would roll smoothly, and Logan could get through it all with minimal effort.
Sitting in one of the city’s most exclusive restaurants, Logan played his role to perfection. He was the heir to Vaughn Global Lines, expected to expand the empire his father had built, to swallow smaller firms and carve new routes across the seas. Tonight was just another piece of that inheritance. He discussed numbers, bargained, analyzed every angle with a practiced ease that would have impressed anyone watching. And yet, with every word he spoke, he felt the acid in his chest growing, the sensation of suffocation creeping closer. He smiled, nodded, and signed off on plans as though his life weren’t crumbling with every breath he took.
When the deal was closed, the client shook his hand, finished his meal, and hurried off to catch a flight. Logan texted the details to Ada Mae, instructing her to contact the firm’s legal team to draft the contracts. As he stepped out into the cool evening air, the noise of the city hit him—cars honking, people laughing, the hum of a world moving on without him.
