It was always you

Guilty

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**Emerson**

I never imagined the day would come when a simple wedding invitation would fill me with such intense guilt. The ivory envelope lay on my doorstep, half-hidden under my polished black shoes. As I bent down to pick it up, my heart twisted with a mix of dread and disbelief. The names on the card stared back at me, taunting me with their cruel reality: **Ethan weds Selena**.

My fingers lingered over her name—**Selena Walters**. The pain that clawed at my chest was indescribable, a suffocating ache that brought a hot sting to my eyes. How could she forget me so easily? We had promised to spend our lives together. Was I that forgettable, that easy to erase?

“It’s too late now,” I whispered to no one in particular, my hands balling into fists. Just last week, I was confident that nothing could separate me from the queen of my dreams. But now, I was watching everything crumble before my eyes. And the worst part? Emerson Black and failure never walked the same path. This would be a hard pill to swallow.

In a fit of frustration, I crumpled the invitation and tossed it into the wastebasket. Swiping at the moisture threatening to spill from my eyes, I grabbed my sunglasses and headed out to my sleek black SUV, the one that always made me feel in control. As I navigated through the busy streets toward my office building, the city blurred around me.

“Life moves fast. She wouldn’t wait for me forever,” I muttered under my breath. I knew I’d waited too long, stayed silent too long. If Selena had any inkling of my feelings, maybe things would have been different. Maybe I wouldn’t be sitting here, drowning in regret for a love I never fully claimed.

I pulled into the parking lot, my mind still spinning. Buttoning my navy blue Italian suit jacket, I strode into the building. As usual, my staff greeted me with a chorus of “Good morning!” But I wasn’t in the mood to respond. When I’m angry, my temper is a ticking time bomb, and they all know it. One word could mean at least five people fired. Silent treatment is my warning system—it keeps them on edge but safe.

I made my way to my office, trying to push thoughts of Selena out of my mind. As I sat down, my secretary—a woman who’d been flirting with me since the day I hired her—knocked lightly. When I didn’t respond, she opened the door a crack and peeked in.

“May I come in, Sir?” she asked, her voice dripping with fake sweetness.

I nodded, and she slipped inside, carrying my usual black coffee. Her blouse was unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of cleavage, and her skirt barely skimmed her thighs. She always knew how to get attention, even when I didn’t want to give it.

“Mr. Black, your father is here to see you. Should I send him in?” she purred.

I gave a curt nod and took a sip of my coffee, watching her leave. My mind, however, was far from focused on her or my work. It was consumed by the memory of Selena—her hypnotizing blue eyes, her scent, the way her blonde hair shimmered in the sunlight. Not a single day passed without me thinking of her.

I was still lost in those memories when the door swung open, revealing the man who’d shaped my life in more ways than one—Alexander Black. He was a taller, older version of me, with salt-and-pepper hair and a face marked with experience, save for his blue eyes. My sea-green ones were courtesy of my mother.

He made his way inside with a commanding presence. I was about to stand, but he gestured for me to stay seated. “Keep sitting,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar authority.

He settled in the chair across from me. “How are you, son?” he asked, softer now, almost fatherly.

“Everything is fine, Dad. I signed the deal with Chelsea Enterprises, and it’s going to be a game-changer for us,” I replied, masking my turmoil with a smile.

“I didn’t ask about the company, Emerson. I asked about you,” he said, his voice tinged with concern.

I opened my mouth to brush it off, but he continued, “I got an invitation to Selena’s wedding, and that’s why I’m here.” His words struck like a thunderbolt, his expression softening as he saw the shock on my face. He knew. Of course, he knew. He was the one who introduced me to her all those years ago.

“You knew?” I managed to say, my voice hoarse.

“I’ve always known, son,” he replied. “And I’m here to ask you one thing. Are you going to let her walk away without a fight? Because the Emerson Black I know would never back down from something he wants. And I know you want her.”

My heart pounded in my chest, the anger, pain, and longing mixing into something sharp and undeniable. Was I going to let her go that easily? The answer was clear.

“Then do something about it,” my father urged. “Before it’s too late.”

As he got up and left, I sat in my chair, the weight of his words settling over me like a challenge. Maybe it was time to remind Selena Walters exactly who I was—and that she had always belonged to me.

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