Chapter 15
Matthew, the once towering figure of authority–stoic, dignified and impervious -had become a shadow of himself. His
eyes, bloodshot and wild with pain, locked onto the garbage can as if it were the only thing that could offer him redemption. Without hesitation, he plunged his hands into the stinking refuse, casting aside all remnants of pride and status. He rummaged through the waste, his once impeccable posture long forgotten, reduced to a man driven by desperation, scrabbling for something, anything.
And then, as if by divine mercy, he found it.
At the very bottom of the trash, buried beneath forgotten scraps, was their wedding photo–the last trace of the love he had lost. But the photo was not intact. Cracked right down the middle, the two figures were separated by an irreparable
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rift. The fracture was deep, almost mocking an open wound that seemed to laugh at his foolishness, at his blindness to everything that mattered.
Matthew’s gaze, empty and cold, remained fixed on the broken photo. His chest felt as if it had shattered too, the weight of his guilt and regret pressing down with unrelenting force. The morning light cast long shadows across his form and as he stood, covered in the remnants of refuse and surrounded by the buzzing of flies, it was as though he had become one with the darkness.
Suddenly, a colorful butterfly fluttered past him, landing briefly on his shoulder before taking flight once more. It was fleeting, like Cassandra–gone in an instant, leaving behind only the memory of something beautiful that had slipped away.
From that day forward, Matthew seemed to lose himself completely. He abandoned the Lawrence Group’s multimillion–dollar
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contract without a second thought, turning his back on the empire he had spent his life building. Instead, he found himself at the police station, returning with nothing but an urn containing Cassandra’s ashes. Clutching it tightly, he spoke in a daze, as if trying to comfort her in death.
“Cassey, don’t be afraid. Matthew is here.”
“Cassey, let’s go home. Matthew is here to take you home.”
“I won’t let anyone who hurt you get away with it… not even me.”
For three days and nights, he locked himself away in his room. No one could reach him–not Julia, not Mrs. Lawrence. He was a man alone, consumed by his grief, unable to escape the consequences of his actions.
But then, on the fourth day, Matthew emerged. His eyes, though calm, betrayed no hint of the storm that had torn him
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apart. He began to arrange Cassandra‘ s funeral with an unsettling level of composure, carrying on with work and daily life as if everything was normal. Even when he went to the office, he brought Julia along, a signal that things were returning to their former state–or so it seemed.
Julia, dressed in her finest clothes, sat in the car, eager to show off her victory. “I thought Cassandra was so special, that she could keep Matthew in her heart forever.” she said, smirking to herself. “But how can a dead person compete with a living one:”
No sooner had the words left her lips than she felt the cold, piercing gaze of Matthew upon her. His eyes, dark and bloodshot, were filled with a malevolent energy that sent a shiver down her spine. She couldn’t see his expression clearly in the backlight, but the icy aura surrounding him was enough to make her wish she could disappear.
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