Chapter 9 - The Ghost of the PastThat evening, after a long day of high-level board meetings and international conference calls, I returned to my private estate in the rolling hills outside the city.
The estate was surrounded by wrought-iron gates, lush gardens, and armed security patrols—a fortress of absolute safety and luxury.
I walked into the grand nursery, where Liam and Chloe—now crawling, giggling, and bursting with vibrant health—were playing with a mountain of colorful wooden blocks under the watchful eye of their nanny.
When they saw me, both babies squealed with delight, scrambling across the plush Persian rug on hands and knees to crash straight into my ankles, lifting their chubby arms up toward me.
I dropped to my knees, scooping both of them up into a fierce, loving embrace, kissing their soft cheeks as they giggled uncontrollably.
"Did you miss Mommy?" I whispered, burying my face in their curls.
As I stood up, holding one twin on each hip, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
It was an automated security alert from the perimeter gatehouse.
Visitor at Gate 3.
I frowned, walking over to the smart-home terminal mounted on the wall and tapping the live video feed.
The camera showed the rain-slicked exterior of our main entrance gates.
Standing out in the pouring rain, soaked to the bone in a cheap, oil-stained uniform, was Dominic.
He looked ten years older. His hair was thinning, his posture was broken, and his face was gaunt and hollow. He was holding a crumpled, water-logged cardboard sign that read: AUDREY PLEASE TALK TO ME.
A security guard stepped up to the intercom, his voice crackling through the speaker. "Sir, step away from the gate immediately or local law enforcement will be called."
Dominic fell to his knees in the mud, sobbing openly into the rain. "Audrey! Please! Just five minutes! I have nothing left! I lost my apartment, I lost my car, I lost my sanity! Please, show me some mercy!"
I stared at the screen, my expression completely unreadable.
I remembered standing in that sterile NICU room six months ago, holding a C-section incision that felt like it was tearing open, watching him drop divorce papers onto my lap while his mistress smiled in my cashmere coat.
I remembered him telling me I was nothing.
I reached out and tapped the microphone icon on the terminal.
"Dominic," my voice echoed through the outdoor speakers, calm, steady, and loud enough to cut through the pouring rain.
He froze, his head snapping up toward the security camera, his eyes wide and desperate.
"Audrey? Audrey, is that you? Please, please save me—"
"You asked me once who I was," I interrupted, my voice devoid of any warmth or hatred, reduced to absolute, chilling indifference. "You said I was an orphan with no family, no job, and no power."
Dominic sobbed louder, his hands clawing at the muddy ground. "I was wrong! I was a monster! I'll do anything—I'll be your servant—"
"You were right about one thing, Dominic," I continued softly. "You told me that day... that you and I were on our own."
I paused, watching him tremble on the screen.
"Enjoy the journey."
May you like
I tapped the screen, cutting the audio feed completely.
Then I turned away from the terminal, carrying my laughing, healthy twins into the warm, glowing warmth of the kitchen, leaving the ghosts of the past out in the cold rain where they belonged.
