Guard of heart

The return

I stared at my phone, my thumb hovering over Mr. John's number. The internal debate raged on-should I call or not? But before I could make up my mind, the deep rumble of engines outside shattered the silence. My thumb froze mid-air as I glanced toward the massive window.

A convoy of black SUVs snaked its way up the driveway, gleaming under the afternoon sun. Six in total. Each one screamed "VIP"-or maybe "danger." My heart quickened, pounding in my chest like a frantic drum. Is this some kind of attack? Have I been dragged into a billionaire feud?

I forced my legs to move toward the window, curiosity winning out over fear. I felt a mix of anticipation and dread as I peered outside. The sight of suits stepping out with military precision sent a chill down my spine. But before I could overthink, my breath caught in my throat as I spotted Mr. Wilkins being wheeled out of the last car. He looked frail. The man who used to stride through the mansion with the power of a king now seemed... diminished. His once broad frame appeared small, the bandage peeking from beneath his tailored suit sending my stomach twisting in knots.

"Mr. Wilkins..." I whispered, my voice barely audible, as I felt the weight of the moment settling over me like a thick fog. I rushed to the elevator, anxiety propelling me downstairs, where the maids and security had already gathered, eyes wide and whispers buzzing like frantic bees.

Just then, Cicely appeared at my side, her entrance as stealthy as ever. Her perfectly styled hair glimmered under the foyer's light, and she wore a crisp white blouse that accentuated her sharp features. "That's the heir of Wilkins Enterprises," she whispered, her gaze sharp as she pointed toward the two men stepping out of the SUV.

I blinked, struggling to take it all in. Mr. Wilkins' sons? My eyes darted to the men, each detail sharpening in my mind. The first, the taller of the two, moved with a kind of precision that suggested he had everything meticulously planned. His navy suit was sharp, tailored, not a single crease out of place. His face was set in a calm, unreadable mask-stern but not unkind, just... detached. It was as if he were carrying the weight of a mountain on his shoulders, a burden he refused to share.

"That's Adrian," Cicely continued in a low voice, her tone laced with a mix of admiration and caution. "You won't catch him smiling, not even on his best day."

I nodded, absorbing her words like a sponge. Adrian. She had mentioned him before-how Mr. Wilkins had molded him into the perfect successor, prepping him for the family business. I could see it in his stride, the way he commanded the scene, exuding an aura of authority that felt both impressive and intimidating.

But then my gaze shifted to the second guy. He was the polar opposite. With his leather jacket slung casually over his shoulders and an easy grin plastered on his face, he looked like he was on his way to a music festival, not walking into a mansion after a family crisis. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and he had an air of carefreeness that was hard to miss, even amidst the seriousness of the moment.

"And that," Cicely smirked, her eyes sparkling with mischief, "is Allen."

I didn't know whether to laugh or feel more confused. Cicely had mentioned Allen too-how he'd been living his life in Switzerland, far from the family drama. Now that I saw him, I could tell he was the type who avoided pressure at all costs, unlike his older brother. The contrast between them was striking, a vivid portrayal of two very different paths within the same family.

Before I could process it all, the front door swung open, and the entourage began moving inside. My pulse raced as Mr. Wilkins was being carefully wheeled into the grand foyer, his bodyguards surrounding him like sentinels. The atmosphere shifted, the air thick with tension and unspoken questions. Cicely nudged me forward, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's been through a lot."

I swallowed hard, my heart thumping louder as Mr. Wilkins approached. The bandage on his shoulder caught the light, a sharp reminder of the shooting that nearly cost him his life. His clothes, usually so perfectly fitted, hung loosely on his frame, making him appear even smaller than I remembered.

"Ellara," he called, his voice quieter than I expected but still carrying that familiar authority. "I'll need you in the office in an hour. We'll discuss what's next."

My stomach twisted as I nodded, trying to keep my face neutral, though a surge of anxiety coursed through me. "Yes, sir. I'll be there."

He offered a faint smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes, before being wheeled toward the staircase. Just as he disappeared from view, Cicely turned to me, concern etched on her face. "Breathe, Ellara. You're acting like you've seen a ghost."

I didn't respond, still caught up in the surreal reality of the moment. Mr. Wilkins was back-alive but not unscathed. His sons were here, each carrying the weight of their family legacy in very different ways.

And then there was Aby.

I turned, feeling the familiar prickle down my spine as I caught a glimpse of him standing in the shadows, watching everything with those same piercing eyes. He didn't move or say a word; he simply observed, his expression inscrutable.

I let out a shaky breath, my thoughts swirling. The Wilkins family dynamics, the near-death incident, and now this meeting in an hour-it felt like the circus had only just begun.

And me? I had no idea what role I was supposed to play in it all.