Chapter 95

Sean POV

The amber liquid in my glass caught the city lights streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my Shaw Tower office, casting dancing shadows across the polished mahogany desk.

I couldn't remember how many drinks I'd had. Three? Four? The bottle Peter had left before departing was nearly empty now.

My phone lay silent and dark beside me. Christopher finally answered my call after dozens of attempts. His voice came through cold and distant, each word deliberately chosen to wound.

"If Angela wanted you to know where she was," he said with calculated indifference, "she would tell you herself. Clearly, she doesn't want you to know where she is or who she's with. It's no longer any of your concern."

His mockery cut deep, reminding me yet again that I had lost her-perhaps forever.

The door creaked open behind me. Soft footsteps approached from behind, quiet but deliberate against the hardwood floors. For a moment, my alcohol-addled brain played a cruel trick. I could almost smell Angela's signature lily of the valley perfume, could almost feel her presence...

"Sean?"

The voice was wrong. Too high, too breathy. But in my drunken haze, I reached out anyway, pulling the figure into my arms.

"Don't go," I whispered, burying my face in soft hair that should have smelled of lily of the valley but didn't. "Please, just... don't go."

Arms wrapped around me, eager and insistent where they should have been gentle and hesitant. "I'm here, Sean. I'll never leave you."

Something felt wrong. The height, the scent, the way she pressed against me-all wrong. I pulled back slightly, forcing my eyes to focus.

Red hair gleamed in the dim light where there should have been midnight black. Christina's face smiled up at me, her lips parted invitingly as she leaned in.

"I'm sorry..." I shoved her away, perhaps harder than I meant to, sending her stumbling back against my desk.

The night was a blur, the alcohol numbing my senses as I stumbled back into my empty apartment, haunted by memories of Angela. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. I opened the door, and Christina stood before me.

"Christina? What are you doing here?" I slurred, my voice thick with whiskey.

"I heard about you and Angela..." she trailed off, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and something else I couldn't quite decipher.

Overwhelmed by grief, I pulled her into a hug, muttering Angela's name. Christina didn't resist, letting me hold her until I snapped back to reality, realizing it wasn't Angela in my arms.

I pushed her away, a mix of guilt and confusion washing over me. "I'm sorry, I..."

"It's okay," she whispered, a glint of something mischievous in her eyes.

She stepped closer, her fingers tracing a line down my chest, lingering at the open buttons of my shirt. Her gaze was intense, a blend of desire and something predatory.

"You're drunk, you need someone to take care of you," she purred, her voice a soothing lie.

Her hand slipped under my shirt, her touch both cool and burning against my skin. Her body pressed against mine, the soft swell of her breasts a stark contrast to my own hard chest.

I tried to pull away, but she was like a vine, wrapping herself around me. Her lips found mine, a taste of sweetness mixed with the bitter tang of my whiskey.

She nipped at my earlobe, her voice a low murmur against my skin. "Don't fight me, tonight, I'll be your Angela."

Her hand moved lower, undoing my belt buckle. I gasped, a shiver running down my spine.

But then, clarity washed over me.

"Get out." The words came out as a growl.

"Sean!" Christina's voice cracked with hurt. "Why are you pushing me away? She's gone! Angela left you, but I'm still here. I'm the one who truly loves you!"

"GET OUT!"

She fled, tears streaming down her face. The door slammed behind her with a finality that echoed through my chest. I collapsed back into my chair, the room spinning slightly as I reached for the bottle again.

The sound of my glass shattering against the wall surprised even me.

"Sean?" Father's voice carried clear concern as I stumbled into the penthouse's foyer the next morning, my head pounding with each heartbeat. "Peter called to say he had to drive you home last night. What happened?"

"Alexander, let me handle this." Mother's tone was sharp with barely contained fury. She rounded on me, her elegant features tight with disappointment.

"What were you thinking, drinking yourself into a stupor at the office? You're the CEO of Shaw Group, for heaven's sake!"

I made my way to the bar, fumbling for aspirin in the cabinet above.

"Angela's gone."

"Gone where?" Mother's voice softened slightly.

"Out of the country." The words felt like glass in my throat. "Sophie won't tell me where. Says I've caused her enough pain already."

I turned to my mother, a bitter laugh escaping my lips.

"Have I really hurt her, Mother? She never loved me-it was Christopher she loved all along. How could I have hurt someone who never cared about me in the first place?"

"Oh, Sean." Mother's sigh held years of maternal exasperation. "Why don't you take some time off? Clear your head?"

"I'm fine." I swallowed the pills dry, wincing at the bitter taste. "The Morrison merger needs attention, and the board meeting-"

"Forget the board meeting," Father cut in. "You're in no state to-"

"I said I'm fine." My voice came out sharper than intended. "I don't need time off. I need to work."

The days that followed blurred together in a haze of meetings and merger documents.

Michael's replacement-his's cousin Thomas-proved frustratingly incompetent, constantly mixing up appointments and filing reports incorrectly.

Each mistake was a sharp reminder of the precision with which Angela had managed everything.

Christmas arrived with bitter winds and swirling snow, the city dressed in holiday splendor that felt like a mockery of my emptiness.

I stood in Father's study, phone pressed to my ear as I listened to it ring.

"Wilson residence." A maid's crisp voice answered.

"This is Sean Shaw. I'd like to speak with Mr. Wilson, please."

A long pause followed, then John Wilson's cool voice came through. "Sean."

"Sir, I..." I cleared my throat. "I wanted to wish you Merry Christmas. And if Angela is there with you..."

"She isn't." His tone could have frozen hell. "Is that all?"

"Please, if you speak to her... tell her..." The words stuck in my throat. What could I possibly say that would matter now?

"Goodbye, Sean." The line went dead.

I found myself wandering through the penthouse later that night, a glass of scotch in hand.

The Christmas tree in the corner-decorated by the staff this year-seemed dimmer somehow, its lights casting shallow shadows where they should have danced.

Last Christmas, Angela had insisted on decorating it herself.

I remembered finding her balanced precariously on a ladder, trying to place the star at the top. When I'd lifted her down, she'd laughed, her eyes sparkling with joy as she'd wrapped her arms around my neck...

"Sean?" Elizabeth's voice pulled me from the memory. She stood in her wheelchair, Victoria hovering protectively behind her.

"What are you doing sitting here alone in the dark?"

"Just thinking, Grandmother."

"About Angela?" Her voice carried no judgment, only understanding. "You know, when your grandfather left me, I thought my world had ended. But do you know what got me through it?"

I turned to face her, surprised by this revelation about my long-deceased grandfather.

"What?"

"The knowledge that I had done everything I could to save what mattered." She wheeled closer, her aged hand finding mine with surprising strength.

"Can you say the same, Sean?"

The question hit like a physical blow. Had I done everything I could? Or had I been too blind, too caught up in old debts and misplaced loyalty to see what I was losing until it was too late?

"I couldn't sleep," Elizabeth continued softly, "I miss her like you do."

I realized it wasn't just me who lost Angela-it was all of us. My parents, my grandmother, even Sarah, who's barely said a word these last few days.