Chapter 32

Alastair Michelle Dee was once a name synonymous with brilliance and charisma in the business world. She was the kind of leader who commanded respect not just through her intellect but through her warmth and authenticity. But all that changed the day Zaviya walked out of her life. Alastair, broken and drowning in guilt, allowed the shadows of her mistakes to consume her.

In the months that followed, her demeanor transformed. Gone was the approachable, charming businesswoman. In her place stood a woman with eyes like steel and a heart encased in ice. Her words were sharp, her decisions ruthless, and her interactions void of emotion. She had become the epitome of cruelty, stoic and unyielding, leaving no room for empathy in her world.

Her closest allies, Klaud and Gaios, watched her spiral with heavy hearts. They had always been by her side, through her triumphs and her heartbreaks, and they knew that the Alastair standing before them was merely a shell of the woman she once was.

“Alastair,” Klaud said one evening in her office, his tone both firm and pleading, “you have to stop this. You’re driving people away—clients, employees, even those who care about you.”

Alastair didn’t look up from her desk, her voice cold and detached. “If they can’t handle my decisions, they’re free to leave. This is business, Klaud. Feelings have no place here.”

Gaios, standing by the window, sighed deeply. “This isn’t you, Alastair. This… cruelty—it’s not who you are. Zaviya wouldn’t want this for you.”

At the mention of Zaviya’s name, Alastair froze. Her pen hovered over the paper, her hand trembling ever so slightly. But she quickly masked her vulnerability, standing and walking to the window, her back to them. “Don’t. Don’t bring her into this,” she said, her voice breaking just for a moment before regaining its icy edge.

Klaud exchanged a glance with Gaios. They knew better than to push her, but they also knew she needed to be reminded of her humanity. Despite her resistance, they never stopped searching for Zaviya, hoping that somehow, reuniting them would bring back the Alastair they knew and loved.

One morning, as the sun barely pierced the thick clouds, Alastair found herself standing outside the gates of the mental institution. It had been a month since she had seen Olga, her ex-lover whose obsession had wreaked havoc on her life. Olga had been the catalyst for the betrayal that drove Zaviya away, and Alastair's hatred for her burned brighter than ever.

Walking down the sterile white corridors, the sound of her heels echoed ominously. When she finally entered the room, Olga was seated by the window, her once-beautiful features now worn and twisted with a semblance of madness.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my handsome lover, Alastair Michelle Dee,” Olga drawled, her voice dripping with mockery. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Do you miss me? Or you come to gloat about how miserable you’ve made me?”

Alastair’s jaw tightened, her fists clenching at her sides. “Miserable? You brought this on yourself, Olga. You ruined my life, my relationship, and for what? Your sick obsession?”

Olga turned to face her fully, a sinister smile spreading across her lips. “Oh, darling. When would your brain accept that you're mine? And I didn’t ruin your relationship. You did that all on your own. You’re the one who betrayed her, remember?”

The words hit Alastair like a slap across the face. Her breathing quickened, and for a moment, she thought she might lunge at Olga. “You setted me up! You orchestrated everything to make me look like the villain!”

Olga laughed, the sound echoing in the small room. “And you played your part beautifully, didn’t you? Face it, Alastair. You’re no saint. You’re just as twisted as I am.”

Alastair took a step forward, her hands shaking with barely restrained fury. “If it weren’t for these walls and these guards, I’d end you right now.”

Olga leaned back in her chair, unfazed. “Go ahead. Kill me, Alastair. But it won’t bring her back. It won’t undo what you did.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, Alastair felt the weight of her guilt crushing her. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she refused to let them fall.

“I hate you,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I hate what you’ve done to me. To her. To us.”

Olga tilted her head, her smile fading. “Hate me all you want, Alastair. But the person you truly hate is yourself.”

Alastair turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, her chest heaving with suppressed emotion. As she walked back to her car, she felt the walls she had built around her heart begin to crack. But instead of letting them crumble, she reinforced them, locking herself away in the cold, unfeeling world she had created.

She drove back to her office, her mind a whirlwind of anger, regret, and sorrow. As she sat alone in her empty room that night, she poured herself a glass of whiskey, staring out at the city skyline.

The weight of her choices, her failures, and her loss pressed down on her like a suffocating blanket. And though she would never admit it to anyone, in the silence of her solitude, Alastair allowed a single tear to escape, a small crack in the fortress of her icy demeanor.

*****************The park was bathed in the soft, golden hues of a late afternoon sun. Alastair couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this complete, this content. The world around her seemed to dissolve into a haze of peace as she watched Zaviya laying out a picnic blanket under the shade of a grand narra tree. A soft breeze carried with it the laughter of a child—their child.

A little girl, almost four in age, with bright, curious eyes that seemed to mirror Alastair's and Zaviya's combined essence, was running barefoot on the grass. Her laughter echoed like a melody, blending seamlessly with the rustling leaves. She was flying a kite, her tiny hands gripping the string tightly as she squealed with joy.

Alastair couldn’t resist her. She ran to her daughter, scooping her up into her arms. The child giggled as Alastair spun her around, their laughter weaving together into a perfect symphony of love. "Higher, Dadda! Higher!" the girl squealed, her small arms reaching toward the sky.

"Alright, little missy," Alastair chuckled, pretending to lose her balance and almost fall, which sent the child into another fit of giggles.

Soon after, the three of them sat together on the blanket. Zaviya handed out sandwiches she had lovingly prepared, accompanied by a pitcher of freshly squeezed lemonade. They ate, joked, and teased one another. It was perfect. It was everything Alastair had ever wanted—a peaceful life with Zaviya and their daughter, Zariah.

As night began to fall, Alastair drove them home. Zaviya was humming softly beside her, and Zariah was snug in the back seat, her eyes heavy with sleep. The tranquility of the moment was shattered in an instant when a shadow darted across the road.

Alastair slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched, the car jolting to a halt. Her heart thundered in her chest as she gripped the steering wheel tightly, her breath caught in her throat.

"Did I hit her?" she whispered to herself, panic rising.

She turned to Zaviya. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice trembling. But the sight that greeted her made her blood run cold.

Zaviya was slumped in her seat, her face smeared with blood that trickled down from a gash on her head. Her lifeless eyes stared ahead, unseeing.

"No, no, no, no," Alastair muttered, her hands shaking.

Desperately, she turned to look at the backseat. Her world crumbled as she saw Zariah covered in blood as well, her tiny face twisted into an expression of rage.

"You killed me, Dadda," the child hissed, her voice sharp and accusing. "You ruined Mommy's life!"

"No! Zariah, no! Please, I didn't mean to!" Alastair cried, tears streaming down her face. She reached out, her hands trembling, but Zariah swatted them away.

"You failed us," Zariah said coldly.

Alastair broke down, her sobs uncontrollable. She turned to Zaviya, pleading. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! I love you both! Please forgive me!"

But Zaviya's bloodied face only stared back at her, devoid of warmth, her lips moving soundlessly. And then, suddenly, Zariah and Zaviya leaned in, holding Alastair tightly in an embrace that felt suffocating and cold.

Alastair jolted awake, gasping for air. Her chest heaved, her breaths ragged and uneven. Tears streaked her face as she clutched her chest, tapping it in an effort to calm her wildly pounding heart. Sweat drenched her shirt, and the haunting images of Zaviya and Zariah lingered in her mind.

She reached for her phone and squinted at the time—2:00 AM. The darkness of her bedroom offered no solace. Sleep was impossible now.

Quietly, she slipped out of bed and made her way to the bar area. Grabbing a bottle of whiskey, she poured herself a glass with trembling hands. The fiery liquid burned her throat, but it wasn’t enough to drown the ache in her heart.

With the glass in hand, Alastair entered the nursery. The room was pristine, untouched, a haunting reminder of dreams that could never be. The crib stood in the corner, empty, waiting. She sank to the floor, her back against the wall, and stared at the unoccupied space where Zariah should have been.

The weight of her emotions crashed over her. She sobbed into the quiet of the room, her cries raw and guttural. "I'm sorry," she whispered between broken breaths, the words meant for both Zaviya and the child that would never come.

She clutched the whiskey glass tightly, her knuckles white. Fear, guilt, and exhaustion consumed her, leaving her feeling hollow and defeated.

In the silence, the echoes of her nightmare lingered. No matter how hard she tried, Alastair couldn't shake the feeling that she had lost everything, even the love she had fought so hard to keep.

When morning came, it was a sunny Monday, but Alastair was far from enjoying the warmth that bathed the city of Manila. Her office, perched high in the clouds of the AMD Corp headquarters, felt suffocating in its luxurious silence. Papers—ones that were due yesterday—piled up in front of her. She signed them one by one with a sharp, almost violent stroke of the pen. The stress of managing both AMD and Zavi Tech Corp was finally catching up to her. She had been meaning to check on Zavi Tech’s progress, but somehow, the weight of her other responsibilities always came first.

The soft, almost hesitant knock at her door broke through her concentration.

“Come in,” Alastair replied coldly, without looking up.

Her secretary, Nicha, entered the room quietly, her voice soft, betraying the awkwardness that hung in the air. “Mr. James Robles is here to see you, Boss.”

Alastair nodded, her gaze still focused on the papers before her. “Let him in.”

A moment later, the door creaked open again, and James Robles walked in. He was tall, lean, and in his 30s, the kind of man who usually exuded confidence. But today, his posture seemed to slouch under the weight of the news he carried. He greeted Alastair, but she remained stoic, her face betraying nothing but the cold anger that had been growing inside her for the past two months.

“I trust you’re here with some good news, James?” Alastair’s voice was sharper than she intended, her frustration already boiling over.

James gulped, the words barely leaving his lips as he replied in a shaky voice. “I still haven’t located her, Boss. We know she’s outside the country, but…” He hesitated, struggling to find the right words. “My team is still looking. We’re searching everywhere to find your wife… secretly.”

The words hit Alastair like a physical blow, and the anger, the helplessness, surged through her veins. Two months. Two months of relentless searching, of desperately trying to find Zaviya, and still nothing. Alastair had spared no expense, no effort—hiring the best investigators, throwing every resource she had into the search, and still, she was nowhere closer to finding the woman she loved.

Her hand clenched around the pen, her knuckles white. She could feel the paper beneath her crumple in her grasp, and she had to fight the urge to break the pen in half. “Do your best, James. I don’t want to hear anything less than success next time.” Her words were cold, final. She didn’t even look at him as she dismissed him, her attention already elsewhere.

James nodded and quickly exited the room, leaving Alastair alone with her thoughts, the weight of the world crushing her chest. As soon as the door clicked shut, she stood up, her legs trembling slightly as she walked to the bar at the far corner of the room. She poured herself a glass of scotch, the amber liquid swirling in the glass, the strong scent filling the air. She held the glass up to her nose, inhaling deeply as if it could numb the pain that was threatening to overtake her.

She walked over to the large glass window that looked out over the sprawling city of Manila. She could see the sun shining brightly, but it did nothing to warm her. She was powerful, successful—had it all, really—but in this moment, it felt meaningless. All the wealth, all the fame, none of it mattered without Zaviya by her side.

She was a failure.

Her mind continued to race with thoughts of her wife, of the life they had once built together, the life that seemed so far away now. She didn’t know if she could keep going like this. The loneliness gnawed at her, but she kept her face blank, a mask of stoicism she wore for the world.

The afternoon passed in a blur of meetings and more paperwork, but Alastair couldn’t focus. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Zaviya. She longed for her, for the woman who was no longer a part of her life. But there was nothing she could do, nothing she could change. So, she buried the pain deep inside, letting it fester beneath the cold exterior she showed everyone else.

At 3 PM, her secretary, Nicha, knocked again, her voice trembling slightly as she entered. She handed Alastair an elegant, gold-trimmed invitation.

“It’s from Mr. Owen Rotherkim, Boss. He’s having an engagement party tomorrow, and he’s invited both you and Ms. Zaviya.”

The name stung. Owen Rotherkim—her good friend in the tech industry. She could almost hear Zaviya’s voice in her mind, teasing her about going to one of these extravagant parties. A sad smile tugged at the corners of Alastair’s mouth. She had hoped, prayed, that by now, Zaviya would be back, that they could attend events like these together. But the empty space beside her was a cruel reminder of the reality she was facing.

“Find me a suit,” she said, her voice flat. “Gold and black, something that fits the theme.”

Nicha nodded and left the room, likely calling a boutique to find something worthy of the occasion.

The rest of the day passed in a haze of emptiness. When she returned home at 6 PM, the silence of the house wrapped around her like a shroud. The place was filled with memories—echoes of laughter, of love, of Zaviya. Nay Celia, her housekeeper, greeted her with a soft, “Good evening, Ma’am,” but Alastair could see the pity in her eyes. She didn’t say anything, though, for she knew better than to speak of the pain that hung so heavily in the air.

Nalin, another maid, took her coat and bag, guiding her to dinner, but Alastair hardly touched her food. She ate a small portion out of habit, the rest of her thoughts consumed by the one person who was missing.

After dinner, she excused herself and retreated to the master bedroom, where she let the water of the shower wash over her. The hot steam curled around her as she stood there, the tears finally slipping from her eyes. She had tried so hard to hold it together, to be the stoic, powerful businesswoman that everyone expected her to be. But now, in the solitude of the bathroom, she allowed herself to break.

The sobs wracked her body, the weight of the loss too much to bear. She didn’t care that her mascara was smudging or that her hair clung to her damp skin. All that mattered was the ache in her heart, the gnawing pain that never seemed to fade. Zaviya—her love, her life—was gone, and she couldn’t bring her back.

After what felt like an eternity, she stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel. The night was quiet, save for the occasional hum of the city below. The stars twinkled outside, so far away and yet so close. She stepped onto the balcony, the cool night air kissing her skin. She lit a cigarette, the smoke curling into the night sky, mingling with her thoughts.

She reached for the bottle of scotch on the table, pouring herself another drink. She didn’t care anymore. It didn’t matter if it numbed her pain or if it made everything worse. She was already broken.

She closed her eyes and whispered into the night, as she always did, praying to God, praying to whatever force was out there.

“Please, give her back to me. Please. I can’t live without her.”

In the quiet of the night, under the watchful eyes of the stars, she let herself hope, one last time. But deep down, Alastair knew the truth—hope was all she had left.

The next day arrived with a cruel inevitability, pulling Alastair from the shallow abyss of her restless sleep. Her phone blared insistently, the shrill ringing slicing through her pounding headache. Without bothering to glance at the screen, she swiped to answer, her voice rough and groggy. The previous night’s alcohol still swam in her system, mingling with the ache of thoughts she couldn’t quiet—the relentless pull of her wife’s absence haunting her like a ghost.

"Alastair, dude, did you just wake up?" Klaud’s voice came through the line, warm but edged with concern.

"Yeah, why? Is something wrong, Klaud?" she murmured, rubbing her temples in a futile attempt to soothe the ache blooming there.

"Did Owen give you the invitation to his engagement party?" Klaud asked, worry threading through her voice.

"Yeah," Alastair replied, dragging herself to her feet and trudging toward the bathroom. "Nicha reminded me yesterday. I’m going."

There was a beat of hesitation before Klaud spoke again. "Would you be fine, dude? We’re going too, so you’ll have someone with you."

Alastair exhaled a weary, "Fine," before ending the call. She set her phone aside and stared at her reflection in the mirror. The person staring back was almost unrecognizable—weight lost to sleepless nights, dark shadows smudged under her eyes, and an emptiness carved into her expression.

Turning on the tap, she splashed cold water onto her face, letting the shock of it jolt her awake. She stepped into the shower, hoping to scrub away not just the alcohol but the heaviness clinging to her like a second skin.

By the time she emerged, dressed and half put-together, it was past 11. The grand dining area greeted her with a sense of emptiness, save for Nalin, who was busy setting the table with a spread of delicious food.

Nalin was a presence of warmth and quiet resilience in Alastair’s life. At 23, with her tall frame, brunette hair, and sharp intellect, she was a vision of youthful ambition. Alastair had been supporting her studies, treating her like the sister she never had. Nalin was Nay Celia’s niece, and the old woman had cared for her like a daughter before passing the torch to Alastair.

"Ate Alastair, please eat," Nalin coaxed, placing a plate of rice and vegetables in front of her. "Ate Zaviya wouldn’t be happy if she saw you like this."

At the mention of Zaviya’s name, Alastair felt the familiar sting in her chest, like a wound that refused to heal. The weight of her absence bore down on her again, a reminder of the mess her life had become. Nalin and Nay Celia had been there through it all—alongside her closest friends, Klaud and Gaios. They’d picked up the pieces when Alastair had shattered. They’d cleaned up her drunken messes and soothed her when she lashed out at the void Zaviya had left behind.

With effort, Alastair forced a smile, trying to mask the storm inside. She picked at her food but ate enough to reassure Nalin, who watched her with quiet concern.

"Your mom called earlier, Ate," Nalin said as she joined her at the table. "She just wanted to check on you. I told her you’re okay, so they wouldn’t worry. They’ll be home next week."

"Thanks, Nalin," Alastair replied, her tone softer now. "How are your studies going? Did you ace your thesis? Nahihirapan ka pa ba?"

"No na, Ate!" Nalin replied, her face lighting up. "Okay na siya. Defended na, and I got the best thesis presenter. Salamat ng marami sa help mo!"

"That’s great news. Congratulations," Alastair said, a genuine smile tugging at her lips. "I’ll give you extra allowance so you can celebrate with your friends."

"No need, Ate," Nalin protested shyly. "Nakakahiya na nga na pinag-aaral mo ako at nakatira pa ako dito. Okay na po sakin yun."

But Alastair had already transferred the money to her account. A small gesture, but one that brought a fleeting moment of warmth to her otherwise cold day.

After lunch, she retreated to her room and changed into her gym clothes. She spent the next hour lifting weights, trying to channel her turmoil into something tangible, something she could control. When exhaustion finally took over, she allowed herself a brief nap, setting her alarm for 4 PM.

The party was set to begin at 7 PM, and she knew she had to be ready. Ready to face the world, even if every step felt like dragging herself through the quicksand of her own grief.

At exactly 6 PM, Alastair stood before her full-length mirror, her sharp black suit with gold accents reflecting an aura of understated elegance. The suit fit her like a glove, the simplicity of its design enhancing her natural grace. She straightened her cuffs, grabbed her car keys, and stepped into the night, her Bugatti Veyron purring to life as she sped toward the party.

The grand hall was already alive with sophistication when she arrived. At the entrance stood Klaud and Gaios, their familiar faces easing some of the tension she hadn’t realized she was carrying. Together, they walked into the glamorous venue, their presence immediately noticed. They exchanged greetings with Owen, their friend and the man of the hour. The room radiated luxury—men in tailored suits, women draped in designer gowns, and the hum of conversations flowing like champagne. It was a gathering of the elite, a celebration that seemed perfect on the surface yet heavy with undertones of ambition and pretenses.

The clinking of glasses stilled when the host called Owen and his fiancée to the stage. A round of applause erupted as the couple was formally introduced, their happiness a stark contrast to the ache building in Alastair’s chest. She clapped along with everyone else, but her mind drifted to a different time, a different stage. Memories of her own engagement to Zaviya clawed their way into her consciousness. They had been the perfect pair, dressed in matching wine-toned suits and gowns, the room alight with their shared joy. Now, the bitterness of those memories turned her smile into something fragile and fleeting, a thin veil over the sorrow she carried.

As the party progressed, Alastair found herself in the company of Klaud and Gaios, their conversation now centered around potential business deals. They mingled with the influential attendees, exchanging pleasantries and discussing future ventures. It was during one of these conversations that Mr. Rotherkim, an old client, turned to her with a question that made her chest tighten.

"Where’s Zaviya? I thought you two were inseparable," he asked casually, his words cutting deeper than he could have known.

Before she could muster a response, the air shifted. A familiar, intoxicating scent of vanilla enveloped her, sharp and clear against the haze of her thoughts. She stiffened. Then, a soft arm hooked through hers, and the warmth of a body pressed gently against her side.

Alastair froze. Her gaze darted to Klaud and Gaios, whose wide-eyed expressions and slackened grips on their wine glasses mirrored her disbelief. She didn’t need to look to confirm it. She knew that scent, that touch.

"Hello, Mr. Rotherkim," came the soft, melodic voice that had haunted her for three agonizing months. "Nice to see you again! Apologies for being late to your son’s party. I had some matters to attend to. But, of course, I couldn’t let my beloved wife attend such an elegant event alone."

Zaviya’s words flowed effortlessly as she leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Alastair’s cheek, her poise and charm as captivating as ever.

Alastair's world seemed to spin. Her body felt foreign to her, the warmth of Zaviya’s lips leaving a burning imprint on her skin. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, hard enough to taste blood, desperate to prove to herself that she wasn’t dreaming. She looked at the woman beside her, still clutching her arm. Zaviya was radiant, glowing with the same elegance and grace that had always left Alastair breathless. Yet, the way she clung to her, the smile she wore, felt so out of place with the anger and distance that had defined their last meeting.

Questions tumbled through Alastair’s mind, each one crashing into the next, but the one that rose above them all was simple yet devastating. Why are you here? She longed to pull Zaviya into her arms, to hold her so tightly that neither of them could slip away again. She missed her. She missed her more than words could ever express. But she remained rooted to the spot, too stunned to act, too afraid to hope.

The party continued, though Alastair could no longer focus. Everything blurred, the faces, the voices, the music—it all faded into the background. Her attention remained locked on Zaviya, on the way she moved, spoke, and smiled as though the past few months of heartbreak had never happened.

Before she knew it, the evening had ended, and she found herself trailing Zaviya's silver Porsche in her Bugatti. The streets were quiet, the city lights a blur as she drove, her heart pounding with unspoken questions and the desperate need for answers. The woman she loved—the woman who had left her—was back. But what did it mean? Could this be a second chance, or was it just another cruel twist of fate?

---------Update 🙂

I read your comments, some of you are telling me that some parts of the story repeat. But no hehe I unpublished those parts for better flow. Hope you cope up. Thanks ebriwan. 😍😍

#ABF32