Breht leaned back on the wooden bench, letting the rays of the morning sun heat his face. Listening to the business jargon that Dura was unrelentingly subjecting him to. Some of his accounts needed looking at upon his return to the office, and his thoughts drifted to the ever-growing list of clients he needed to call. It was a stark reminder of all the responsibilities to come, one that filled him with apprehension. Although Brierley had suddenly closed the doors on what they could become, he felt a fondness for his home town. If there was one small business that was ailing here, then there would be more. What was stopping himfrom setting up an enterprise of his own, right here where he belonged?
“Are you listening, Breht?”
“Yes, Ma,” he replied subserviently, putting a pause on all thoughts of potential happiness.
“When will you be returning to the office? You’re due back tomorrow, correct?”
“We’re relaunching tonight, so, yes,” he answered sullenly. His time here had been so short. So much had changed in such a fleeting amount of time. One relationship had ended, and another bloomed in its wake, only to be stunted. His thoughts towards inheritance and his future had shifted, changing so rapidly that it blindsided him.
“Good, we need you here, Breht.”
The orc swallowed hard behind his tusks. That was as close as a compliment came from his Matriarch, and he’d take it for what it was. He was about to speak, ignite the casual conversation a Mother and Son should be able to have over the telephone, but she hung up before the words formed in his throat. “I love you, Ma,” he whispered half-heartedly to the droning tone that signified the call had been cut. Had he ever heard those three words come from her mouth? Love was something he clung to; it was precious, something to be nurtured. To feel it denied felt like the ultimate tragedy. He poured everything he had into his relationships; he treated his girl right, even if everything turned sour in his hands.
He found himself at the beach without quite remembering how he'd gotten there. The sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose. Hesat on a weathered bench overlooking the shingle, his elbows resting on his knees, and let the weight of everything settle over him like the salt-tinged breeze.
The waves crashed against the shore in a rhythm that felt almost meditative. Pebbles skittered back and forth with each surge and retreat, worn smooth by years of the ocean's patient work. Seabirds wheeled overhead, their cries sharp and insistent, while sparrows chattered in the beach grasses behind him. It was a symphony of the seaside—one he'd forgotten existed in the years he'd spent in corporate towers and boardrooms.
Dura's words echoed in his mind:We need you here.Not ‘I need you.’Not ‘I’m proud of you’.Just the cold, practical assertion that his presence was required. That he was a resource to be deployed, not a son to be loved. And he'd accepted it, as he always did. Because that was what he did—he bent himself to fit the shape others needed him to be. He'd done it his entire life, and it had never been enough.
But sitting here, watching the light dance across the water, something shifted inside him.
What if it didn't have to be?
He thought of Brierley—the way her eyes lit up when she talked about her craft, the genuine passion in her voice when she described the stories behind each piece. He thought of the designs he'd sketched, the ones that had come from somewhere deep inside him, a place that had nothing to do with profit margins or quarterly reports. He thought of how alive he'd felt these past few days, helping her rebuild something meaningful, somethingreal.
And then he thought of returning to the city. To Dura's cold office. To endless meetings about businesses that meant nothing to him, to decisions made purely on the basis of what would generate the most revenue. To a life where love was something you earned through productivity, never something freely given.
The inheritance loomed before him like a prison sentence. CEO of Merloft Corp. The title that was supposed to be the pinnacle of his ambitions. But when he imagined it—the desk, the responsibility, the endless cycle of acquisition and displacement—he felt nothing but dread.
What if he didn't go back?
The thought was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. He could establish his own venture. Help struggling businesses like Ohpaua survive and thrive. Work with his hands and his heart instead of just his spreadsheets. Build something that mattered, something that helped people rather than displaced them.
And Brierley. Gods, Brierley. He'd lost her because he'd been too drunk and too raw to think clearly, too respectful to push past her sudden coldness. But what if he didn't have to lose her? What if he could choose a different path—one that kept him here, in this seaside town, with her?
The peace of the moment wrapped around him like a benediction. For the first time in years, Breht felt like he could actually see his life clearly. Not the life that was expected of him, but the life hewanted. The one that involved art and small businesses, and a woman who made jewellery that told stories. The one where he was enough, simply by being himself.
He closed his eyes and breathed in the salt air, feeling the weight of choice settle on his shoulders—but it was a differentkind of weight. Not the crushing burden of duty, but the solid, grounding weight of decision. Of agency. Of possibility.
He was going to do it. He was going to leave Merloft Corp. He was going to build something new. And he was going to fight for Brierley, no matter what it took.
The silken touch of fingers covering his face tugged a smile at the corner of his mouth. Bringing with them a cascade of wonderfully affirming emotions, hope paramount amongst them. Admittedly, it was a strange way for someone to greet him after they'd announced they wanted to keep things professional, but he relished in his change of fortune.
Until they spoke, "Guess who?"
He tensed like a bucket of ice-cold water had been thrown over him. His eyes snapped open in an instant. He'd know that ghastly voice anywhere.
She settled herself in his lap without invitation, looping her thumb into his septum piercing and pulling his head toward her like she owned him.
"Rosani!" He protested, exclaiming her name like an expletive.
She lowered her face to kiss him. And he was tempted. Gods, what kind of man would he be if he wasn’t? She was an undoubtedly beautiful woman, dressed to kill, and it was him on her hit list. He couldn’t. Wouldn’t wander down that dark path again. Not now that he had found perfection in the arms of another, even if she’d crushed his hopes.
Just before her mouth brushed against him, his brow twitched. White-hot anger surged to the forefront of his mind. He stood. His fist clenched as tightly as his jaw. Shrugging off her unwanted advances. Her feet touched the floor, stopping herfrom landing on her backside. She looked at him thunderously for his lack of reciprocation. For spurning her in the flesh as much as over the phone.
“What the hell are you doing here?” He fumed. His anger swiftly enveloped him. He whirled around, turning on her. The park span as he turned to face the long-eared elf. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of whom he had hoped it’d have been covering his face; in that moment of unknowing, Brierley. The expression on her face was nothing short of mortified, catching him like a guilty teenager. Suddenly, he recalled, Brierley had been cheated on before, had her heart toyed with. Now that baggage was his burden to carry, his mistake to put right.
He didn’t wait to hear Rosani’s answer. It was obvious what she was doing. Stalking him. All the small hints fell into place; the change of his ringtone, the hearts. How had she known he was here, in the park at this exact time? A tracking app on his phone. Thus, she’d turned up, trying to get her wicked claws back into him.
