YELLOW

PART 15

A month had passed, and Anastasia and I had grown closer than ever. However, that day marked my departure. I packed my belongings and grabbed my backpack, taking a moment to look around the room when I heard Anastasia's footsteps approaching.

I turned slightly to see her offering a faint smile. "So, you're leaving... going home," she said, and I nodded, unable to take my eyes off her. "Take care of yourself," she added softly before turning away to fix her bed. I walked over to her, pulled her into a hug, and held her tightly, as if trying to make the moment last forever.

Anastasia rested her head against my chest, the room bathed in moonlight, and it felt like it was just the two of us in the world. We whispered to each other, sharing secrets in the quiet. "Do you have a dream?" I asked, my hands gently cradling her head as I gazed down at her. She responded softly, "Not really; dreams are for those who can afford to dream." Her words always had a way of silencing me, cutting through the moment with their depth.

I pressed my forehead against hers, and as our lips met, I felt her body begin to entwine with mine. We surrendered to our desires, each kiss igniting a longing that had been building between us. Our shared pain forged an unbreakable bond, stronger than anything I had ever known.

She moved on top of me, and I instinctively followed her rhythm, my hands resting on her hips as I traced my fingers along her neck. I shifted slightly, and she pressed her chest against mine, prompting me to glance down, my tongue flicking against her skin. The sensation sent waves of pleasure through me, intensifying the heat of the moment as she tightened around me, consumed by our mutual desire.

"Goodbye, Marcus," she said softly, pulling away and releasing me. I stood there, feeling a mix of confusion and longing, and fished out a small piece of paper on which I had written my number. "If you ever want to reach out, this is how you can find me," I said. She smiled, a knowing grin that suggested she thought I might disappear from her life.

"Marcus, they're here for you," the nurse called out, breaking the spell of the moment. I turned and nodded, grabbing my backpack. I whispered, "Take care of yourself," and Anastasia nodded, tears glistening in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around herself. She watched me leave, our gazes locking one last time. That look was etched in my memory, filled with unspoken sadness.

As I walked out of the building, I took a moment to look around. It felt strangely like home, even if only for a short time. Garrett, my driver, was waiting by the door of the sleek black Range Rover. I thanked him as I climbed in, and he adjusted the rearview mirror to catch my eye.

"Where to, Mr. Baker?" he asked, and I gazed out the window, lost in thought. "To the Baker Corporation," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper as I reflected on what I was leaving behind.

I needed to wrap up some unfinished business with my father. He nodded in acknowledgment and began driving toward the destination I had specified.

"Why do you still work for him if you don't want to? You could easily start your own firm," Olivia remarked as I sat at my desk in our home office, a glass of bourbon in hand. I stared down at the agenda, feeling the weight of her words.

She just didn't understand. "This is all I have left," I replied, my voice heavy. "It's my mom's company, which my father took over after she passed. My grandfather wouldn't have wanted it in his hands, especially after everything he put her through." I downed the rest of my drink, feeling its warmth wash over me.

Olivia placed her hands on my shoulders, gently massaging them as she whispered, "I get it, but you need to take a break. Me and the baby need your attention." Yet I was too absorbed in trying to make the company work, neglecting the one person who truly supported me.

"Yeah, just go to sleep. I'll join you in a bit," I said, feeling her arms loosen around my neck. Her smile faded, and without saying another word, she slipped away into the darkness of the house. I felt a pang of regret as I watched her go, realizing how much I had let my focus on the company overshadow my family.

I've always allowed the deep-seated anger from my past to consume me, sabotaging the good things in my life. Deep down, I never believed I deserved anything better. Those were the messages I had internalized over the years; my mind was conditioned to accept this reality as truth. It felt as if there was nothing I could do to change that perception.

"We're here," Garrett announced, pulling me from my reverie. I glanced out the window, my gaze landing on the imposing glass building that bore the Baker insignia. This was the moment I had been waiting for my entire life.

My hand instinctively moved to a hidden compartment in the car, retrieving a gun and sliding it into the inner pocket of my jacket. What was about to unfold was shrouded in mystery, and the weight of the moment pressed heavily on my shoulders. I could feel my heart racing, a mixture of anticipation and dread swirling within me. This was it—the culmination of years of unresolved tension and unheeded warnings.

I stepped out of the car and made my way toward the building, the sleek glass facade reflecting the late afternoon sun. As I entered, I was greeted by Alicia, the receptionist at the front desk.

"Marcus! I was starting to think you wouldn't show up," she said, a smirk playing on her lips. "Your father mentioned it must have been hard for you—being cooped up with those crazy people." Her grin felt more like a jab than a welcome.

"Oh, absolutely," I replied, playing along with her sarcasm. "I'm here to see Robert," I added, resting my arm casually on the desk.

"He's not in yet, but he will be shortly. You can wait for him in his office," she informed me, her tone shifting slightly as she pointed toward the elevator.

I nodded and made my way to the tenth floor, where his office was located—at the very top of the tallest building in town. The elevator, with its glass doors, felt like a slow ascent into the lion's den.

As I stepped into Robert's office, I was struck by the sheer opulence surrounding me. The walls were adorned with numerous photographs of him, showcasing both his achievements and his inflated sense of self. It was a testament to the narcissist he was.

I walked over to his desk and sank into the leather chair, its richness contrasting sharply with the turmoil I felt inside. My eyes fell on the selection of fine liquor bottles neatly arranged beneath the desk. I opened one and poured myself a drink, allowing the amber liquid to settle in the glass.

Turning the chair to face the door, I waited, mentally preparing myself to confront the devil in his own lair. I was ready for whatever confrontation awaited me; this was my moment to reclaim my voice.