Whisper Destiny

Chapter 55

~ Natasha ~

It had been a few hours since I last saw Catherine. The sun started to dip lower in the sky, casting the world in a warm, orange glow. The soft whisper of the wind outside should have been soothing, the view peaceful and serene, yet my mind refused to quiet. Thoughts of Catherine churned restlessly, refusing to be stilled. Her face lingered in my thoughts, the subtle way her expression had changed when she turned away, make me restless.

Astrid had been thoughtful enough to arrange for dinner to be served in our hotel room. The dishes were beautifully arranged, a feast for the eyes as much as for the palate. But as I sat at the elegantly set table, my eyes kept drifting to area of Catherine's room. The silence on the other side of it was almost palpable, a reminder that she had yet to emerge.

My appetite was tempered by concern. I debated with myself—should I let her rest, or should I ask her to join me for dinner? The longer I waited, the more certain I became that she hadn't eaten. The thought of her going without a proper meal for the rest of the day, especially after everything she had been through, made my decision for me.

Slowly I approach her room and knock on her door, waiting for an answer that never came. I tried again, but silence greeted me. Maybe she was asleep, I thought, turning to leave. But something tugged at my instincts, urging me to check on her. I grasped the doorknob, relieved to find it unlocked, and slowly step inside.

The lights were on, yet the bed remained untouched, its linens smooth and unwrinkled. My gaze roamed the room until it landed on her. She was seated at the table in the corner, completely absorbed in her tablet. Her ears were plugged with earbuds, likely the reason she hadn't heard my knocking.

A surge of irritation flared up inside me at the sight of her working instead of resting. I moved closer, ready to scold her for pushing herself too hard. But as I approached, the words caught in my throat. Her silhouette was etched against the table light, and there was something in her expression that stopped me cold—a quiet vulnerability, a sadness that seemed to weigh down her usually confident features. She looked so fragile, so unlike the Catherine I knew. It almost hurt to look at her like this.

A sudden realization struck me, hitting like a punch to the gut. Oh God, Natasha, how could you be so blind, so insensitive? I could feel it—she was lost in her own world, trapped by whatever demons haunted her. Was she having a PTSD, anxiety attack? Was that why she couldn't sleep these past few days? And knowing her, she was probably using work as a distraction, a way to keep the darkness at bay.

My thoughts spiraled, a chaotic tangle of half-remembered words and buried memories. I recalled the hushed conversations I'd overheard between my parents, the way they'd spoken about Catherine's trauma with a quiet reverence I'd once dismissed out of indifference. I used to hate how they always talked about her. But now, seeing her like this—so fragile, so unbearably human—my old resentment dissolved, replaced by something deeper, an overwhelming urge to shield her from the world, to take care of her in a way I'd never imagined

I didn't know why I was feeling this way, or what was right or wrong to do, but there was one thing I was certain of: she wasn't as okay as she pretended to be. The incident at her company must have triggered and shattered her more than anyone realized, and yet she carried on, as if nothing had happened, as if she could just will the pain away. And I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the story, something hidden beneath the surface, a truth she hadn't yet revealed. Seeing her now, so vulnerable, so utterly exposed, only confirmed my suspicion.

My attention drifted back to her, lingering on the fragile curve of her, the way her fingers absentmindedly tapped at the screen. In that moment, a quiet resolve settled over me—I would do whatever it took to help her, to ensure she was okay, even if just for tonight. She needed rest, and I had to handle this with care, not by pushing her into something I knew wouldn't work.