Bound by Shadows

34

Caelus

"I ordered Chinese takeout."

The words fell flat, hollow in the silence as Tadashi stepped into my office. I didn't look up. Of all people, he was the last person I wanted to see. Instead, I feigned focus, my eyes scanning the scattered papers on my desk. As if pretending to work could erase the disaster of last week—or the wreckage my life had become.

No, it wasn't just a mistake. I had ruined everything. Not just my own life but hers too.

She was right. I was wrong. It was all my fault. And yet, in my arrogance, I clung to her like she was something I deserved simply for existing. I took her for granted, crushed her spirit without even realizing it.

Father was right. I wasn't cut out for this—for any of it. I wasn't meant to feel. Every emotion I allowed myself to have only dragged people down with me. The one person who truly loved me... I broke her. Shattered her into someone unrecognizable, someone I'd never be able to fix.

Tadashi set the takeout bag on the cluttered desk, shoving aside a mountain of papers in the process. I groaned in protest.

"You haven't eaten in days," he said, his voice firm yet tinged with familiarity. "I can't let my boss starve to death before I get my paycheck."

"I ate a sandwich," I lied, my tone sharp as I glared at him. Tadashi didn't flinch. Instead, he dragged a chair across from me and started unpacking the food.

"Get out. Now. You're crossing the line, and I'll fire you if I have to—"

"She wouldn't want you to starve."

The words hit like a sucker punch. My breath caught, and for a fleeting moment, her face appeared in my mind—her eyes filled with hurt, disappointment pooling into unshed tears.

Tadashi broke the wooden chopsticks with a quiet snap, setting them on the edge of the container he slid toward me. "Eat."

The silence between us was deafening, broken only by the occasional scrape of chopsticks against the container. I picked at the food with no real appetite, shoving rice around as if the act itself could silence the chaos in my mind. Tadashi ate steadily, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the tension that hung heavy in the room.

When I finally set the chopsticks down, most of the food untouched, Tadashi glanced at me. "At least you ate something," he said softly, almost to himself.

I ignored him, gathering the crumpled trash and tossing it near the bin. My hands moved instinctively, gathering the paperwork I had abandoned earlier. But Tadashi didn't leave. He sat there, his gaze steady, like he was waiting for me to say something—or maybe to fall apart.

"What?" I snapped, my voice sharp enough to cut through the thick tension.

Tadashi shook his head slowly, a faint, unreadable expression on his face.

I exhaled sharply, turning my focus back to the paperwork, pushing away the thoughts I didn't want to confront. Her face flashed in my mind again, the pain I had caused her replaying like a haunting refrain. Her voice lingered—an echo of disappointment, anger, and sorrow, blending into a crushing silence.

I buried it all. Buried it under numbers, ink-stained pages, and the steady rhythm of work. Anything to avoid the unbearable truth Tadashi wasn't saying aloud.

I had to ensure every number was precise. Starting a new business—an asset management firm—meant making difficult, high-stakes decisions every day. As the head of the firm, I was responsible for overseeing investment strategies, analyzing market trends, managing portfolios, and safeguarding clients' financial futures. It required sharp judgment, meticulous planning, and the ability to anticipate risks before they materialized. Apparently, this relentless balancing act of numbers and strategy was the only thing I'm good at.

Without warning, Tadashi snatched the papers from the desk and ripped them apart in one swift, deliberate motion. My patience, already stretched thin, snapped like a taut wire. Rage surged through me, hot and unrelenting, my pulse pounding in my ears. I felt the veins in my neck and temples bulge, my hands trembling with the sheer force of my anger.

I lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar. The tension exploded into violence. My fist connected with his jaw, the sharp impact reverberating up my arm. He retaliated instantly, driving his shoulder into my chest and sending us both tumbling to the floor. The room blurred as we grappled, fists striking flesh, elbows jarring ribs. Furniture crashed around us, the sound of splintering wood and muffled grunts filling the air.

We rolled, a chaotic tangle of limbs, knocking over chairs and scattering loose papers like confetti. I felt the sting of his knuckles across my cheek, followed by the satisfying crack of my fist against his ribs. The floor became our battleground, every movement fueled by raw, unfiltered fury.

Finally, exhaustion overtook us. We collapsed in a heap, side by side, sweat-soaked and panting. The room spun in the aftermath, and all we could do was lie there, breathless, staring up at the cracked ceiling as the storm of rage ebbed away.

Tadashi, still breathless, asked, "Feeling better?"

I shot back, "Fuck you."

Silence fell between us again, heavy and unyielding. Then, after a pause, Tadashi spoke, his voice quieter this time. "She's doing well. She updates Zavian from time to time. He was kind enough to let me know."

The words hit me like a blow, knocking the wind out of my chest. My throat tightened painfully, and I swallowed hard, but it didn't help. My aching hands, still raw and trembling from the fight, suddenly felt weightless, as though they were searching for something—or someone—they couldn't hold. Her. I missed the warmth of her skin, the silkiness of her hair slipping through my fingers.

The air in the room seemed to shift, suffocating me with its familiarity. At first, it reeked of alcohol and sweat, the sour remnants of our scuffle. But now, somehow, it carried her scent—sweet, lingering, and intoxicating. It was just like her shampoo, the one that clung to her whenever she leaned close, mingling with the delicate allure of her favorite perfume. That scent was her essence, a mix of light and warmth, of softness and sharpness, that lingered long after she was gone.

The longing swelled in my chest, unbearable and relentless. I didn't just miss her; I ached for her. For the way her presence filled the room without effort, the way her laughter danced through the air, and the way her touch calmed the storm inside me. Now, with only the ghost of her scent lingering, it felt like she was here and yet impossibly far away, slipping through my fingers all over again.

I pushed myself to my feet, wiping the blood from my nose with the back of my hand. Every step felt heavy as I dragged myself to the corner of the room, reaching for the nearest bottle. Pouring a drink with unsteady hands, I muttered under my breath, "I didn't ask." Then, without hesitation, I brought the glass to my lips, letting the burn of the alcohol consume me, sinking deeper into my own miserable silence.