LICENSE TO LOVE

CHAPTER 5: LOVE AND DESPAIR.

I stood by the expansive window of my mansion, the sheer magnitude of the room almost suffocating in its grandeur. The setting sun cast a warm, golden glow that bathed the space in a tranquil light, yet I couldn’t shake the sense of unease that enveloped me.

It had been approximately a day and a half since I last laid eyes on the Café attendant, Blaire. With each passing moment, my anxiety about her arrival at my residence intensified.

My hands were tightly clasped behind my back, my posture rigid as I gazed out at the sprawling gardens and the long, winding driveway leading up to my estate. I had been eagerly awaiting this moment for what seemed like an eternity, my heart pulsating with a mix of excitement and apprehension.

The sound of Tom, my closest friend and confidant, moving around behind me provided a semblance of comfort. I could hear the soft clink of his wine glass as he swirled it, the rich aroma of the wine permeating the room. He attempted to exude an air of casual ease, yet I sensed the underlying tension in his movements. We both had been eagerly anticipating the arrival of my prospective client—someone who was not merely a business opportunity but a person I deeply cared for.

“Craig, you’re practically glued to that window,” Tom remarked, his voice tinged with amusement that veiled his genuine concern.

“It’s not every day you have someone special arriving.” His words evoked memories of the moments I had once shared with Vanessa years ago. It was a beneficial relationship, one I had come to terms with and had to terminate; one I constantly strive to forget.

I scarcely acknowledged his words, my gaze fixed on the driveway where I hoped to catch sight of the familiar silhouette of the car.

“Yes, well, this is more than just a visit. It’s... significant. I’ve been awaiting this moment,” I replied with a deep sigh.

"If only she knew, Craig. If only she knew how far you'd go to pursue her. But I tell you this, my friend,"he joined me, pretending to observe what I was seeing, "the moment Veronica realizes this, it's game over. It'll come crashing and I do not need to help you paint how such would appear," he cautioned.

Then, the phone rang. The sharp sound pierced the room, sending a jolt of anxiety through me. I glanced at Tom, who offered me a reassuring nod as I answered the call.

The voice on the other end was formal, yet the message it conveyed was anything but. My driver, Owen Wilson, had been in a fatal accident. There were no reported survivors from the vehicle.

The ground seemed to shift beneath me as I hung up the phone. My hands, which had been clasped behind my back, trembled slightly as I turned back to the window. The view of the setting sun and the distant gardens now felt like a cruel irony.

My mind was a whirlwind of disbelief and despair. The driver was gone. The individual entrusted with bringing my beloved here was deceased. And there was no confirmation regarding the fate of my beloved.

Tom drew closer, his wine forgotten. His concern was palpable as he placed a hand on my shoulder. “Craig, what happened?”

I struggled to find my voice. “The driver... he didn’t make it. There’s no news about...” My words faltered, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on me. “About her. There’s no confirmation if they survived.”

Tom’s hand remained on my shoulder, offering a silent support that I desperately needed. “I’m so sorry. We need to find out what happened. There’s still hope.”

I turned my gaze back to the window, the twilight casting long shadows across the room. The landscape outside, once a symbol of anticipation and new beginnings, now felt like a vast, empty expanse. I stared at the driveway, willing it to bring news—any news—though I knew how improbable that was.

My mansion, with all its grandeur and splendor, felt hollow. The anticipation of a joyous arrival had transformed into a profound silence. I clung to the slim hope that, somehow, against all odds, she might still be alive--to make me my own coffee. But as the sun dipped below the horizon, the uncertainty and grief seemed to stretch out as far as the view from my window.

The world beyond the car window was a blur of color and light, the fading sunset casting a warm glow that did little to calm my nerves.

Lost in a whirlwind of thoughts, my mind raced with anticipation and the weight of the impending meeting with Craig. The driver’s steady hands on the wheel provided a modicum of comfort, but that sense of security was abruptly shattered.

Blaire's Pov.

The screech of tires and the violent jolt of the collision were the last things I remembered clearly. The car spun, and everything seemed to dissolve into chaos.

Upon regaining consciousness, I was disoriented, struggling to make sense of my surroundings. The once orderly interior of the car was now a twisted wreckage, and the driver—who had previously epitomized professionalism—was nowhere to be found.

I attempted to move, but pain shot through my body, immobilizing me. The sirens grew louder, and the faint outline of emergency vehicles came into focus. Voices—some soothing, some urgent—filled the air.