The days passed quietly. Then the weeks. Then the months.
Life didn't pause for grief, and neither did the empire.
Zeke moved through his routines like a man wading through mist—present, but not quite alive. Meetings were attended. Deals were signed. Numbers were tracked. But behind every accomplishment was silence, and in that silence, echoes of a woman he couldn't forget.
Cassidy had vanished like a ghost, and with her, a part of him had gone too.
It had been over half a year since their divorce, but the ache hadn't dulled. It had simply grown quieter, buried beneath structure and steel.
And just when he had started to breathe a little easier—when her name had stopped slipping into his mind at every turn—Bastiano called.
Not a request. A summons.
***
It was just past sunset when Zeke arrived at Bastiano's mansion.
The Salvador estate loomed against the fading sky, its stone façade carved with decades of history, legacy, and unyielding tradition. The kind that didn't ask for permission—only obedience.
He climbed the wide marble steps, greeted silently by two guards. No introductions were needed. He was Zeke Salvador—the heir, the future, the man bred for empire.
Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of polished wood, aged cigars, and expectation. Grand chandeliers glittered above his head, portraits of ancestors watching like silent judges. He walked through it all with the ease of someone raised in a kingdom, yet untouched by its warmth.
Bastiano was waiting in the grand sitting room, seated like a monarch in his usual leather chair, the fire at his back casting flickering shadows across the shelves.
"Zeke," he said without looking up. "Sit."
Zeke obeyed without a word, already knowing what this meeting was about.
A pause stretched between them before Bastiano spoke again, each word deliberate.
"It's been over six months since your divorce. It's time to remarry."
Zeke let out a quiet breath, settling deeper into the chair.
"We're doing this again."
"We are," Bastiano said firmly. "You're not just anyone, Zeke. You carry the Salvador name. That name doesn't die with you."
"I never said it would."
"But you're thirty-four. Still no children. No wife. Your last marriage produced no heir, and since then, you've buried yourself in your work. You're losing time."
Zeke's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You mean I'm not on your schedule."
Bastiano didn't blink. "Legacy doesn't wait. Our bloodline built this empire. It won't vanish because you're feeling sentimental."
Zeke's tone cooled. "That 'sentiment' was a marriage. One you approved of."
Bastiano's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
"I'm not ready to remarry," Zeke continued. "You, of all people, should understand that."
"Love isn't the point."
Zeke leaned forward, his voice low. "Then that's the problem."
The silence between them deepened.
"You expect me to enter another arranged marriage like it's a boardroom deal," Zeke said. "I just ended a marriage built on silence. Now you want to offer me a stranger—to produce a child, to secure a name. For what? So you can sleep better at night?"
"Yes." Bastiano didn't flinch.
Zeke stood, slow and controlled. "Well, I won't."
"No?" Bastiano echoed, rising as well. "You dare refuse—after everything I've done to put you where you are?"
Zeke met his gaze without blinking.
"You've done a lot. I don't deny it. But this is my life. And I won't let you choose who I marry. Not again."
"You're acting like a child."
"I'm acting like a man who's had enough."
Bastiano's voice sharpened, slicing through the room.
"Since when do you believe in love, Zeke? Since when has anyone in this family married for love? You think I married your late grandmother because I loved her? Do you think our empire was built on feelings?"
Zeke's jaw clenched, but his voice remained quiet.
"Maybe that's why we're all so broken."
Bastiano scoffed. "You sound like a dreamer. We are Salvadors. We marry for power. We marry for name. We marry to protect what's ours."
Zeke crossed his arms slowly.
"Then maybe I don't want to be that kind of Salvador anymore."
The words landed like a stone between them.
"So what now?" Bastiano demanded. "You'll let the name die because you're chasing something you can't even define? You'll gamble our bloodline for a feeling?"
"No," Zeke said calmly. "I'll continue the name when I'm ready. On my terms. Not yours. I'm rebuilding my life. Focusing on the company. On the empire you raised me to lead."
"Leadership means thinking beyond yourself," Bastiano barked. "It means blood. Continuity. Survival."
"And what?" Zeke asked. "Marrying a woman I don't love just to produce a child for the sake of your ego?"
"It's not ego. It's survival. I've found someone—respectable, raised to understand this world. She's prepared to be a Salvador."
Zeke didn't hesitate. "No."
Bastiano's eyes flashed. "You're throwing everything away."
Zeke stepped closer. "No. I'm carrying it—on my shoulders, every day. But I won't sacrifice myself to keep the illusion alive."
A beat of silence.
"Everything I've done," Bastiano said slowly, "was to make sure you'd stand where you do now."
"And I'm standing," Zeke replied. "But I decide where I walk next."
He turned to leave, the fire flickering behind him like the embers of a dying legacy.
"If the Salvador name is so fragile it can only survive through force, maybe it deserves to die."
And then he was gone—leaving behind the heat, the ghosts, and the weight of generations.
***
Zeke didn't speak a word during the drive back.
The city blurred outside the car window—steel, lights, speed. All of it distant. Detached. He sat in the back seat, one leg crossed, fingers tapping restlessly against his knee. But his mind was elsewhere.
His grandfather's words still echoed in his chest.
"Power survives us."
"You don't get to refuse this."
"This isn't about love."
Zeke scoffed under his breath.
Maybe that was the problem. Maybe power had survived them for too long—while everything else, everything that made them human, had been left to die.
He arrived back at his apartment just past midnight.
The silence welcomed him like an old friend.
Shoes off. Jacket on the chair. A glass of scotch in his hand before the clock struck twelve-thirty. He stood by the window, staring down at the city. Watching the cars. The lives. The world that moved without him.
Cassidy used to stand here too.
He could still remember the way she folded her arms when she was annoyed with him. The way she pressed her forehead to the glass when she was lost in thought. The way she smiled when she thought he wasn't looking.
He hadn't seen that smile in almost a year.
A breath left his lungs before he realized he'd been holding it.
"What the hell am I doing," he muttered.
He had work. Power. A legacy that people envied. And yet... nothing inside him felt grounded. No joy. No pride. Just an ache that stayed, no matter how many zeroes lined his bank account.
He downed the scotch and reached for his phone. Almost without thinking.
His thumb hovered over a name. Not Cassidy's. But close.
Georgia.
He hadn't spoken to her in weeks—not since the last time he asked if she'd heard from Cassidy. The answer had been no then. It would probably be no now.
But something pulled him to press the call button anyway.
The phone rang.
Twice.
Three times.
Then—
"Zeke? It's past midnight."
"I know," he said quietly. "I just... I needed to ask you something."
A pause.
"Still thinking about her, huh?"
He didn't deny it. Couldn't.
"Yeah."
Georgia sighed softly, not with irritation, but something more like quiet understanding.
"Zeke... Cassidy's okay."
Zeke closed his eyes at those words, like he needed to hear them just to keep breathing.
"You sure?"
"As sure as I can be. I don't know where she is right now, but I know she needed this—time away. Space. Freedom. A new rhythm. She spent so much of her life compromising, adjusting for other people. I think this was her way of choosing herself for once."
"Then why didn't she say anything?"
Georgia answered gently.
"Sometimes leaving is the only way people know how to survive."
Zeke stayed quiet.
Then Georgia added, her voice steady:
"If she wants to come back... she will. Cass isn't the type to disappear forever. But maybe she needs to find herself first. And if—when—she returns... maybe you'll get the chance to fight for her. To show her you've changed too."
"And if she never comes back?" Zeke asked, quietly.
"Then you'll still have to live, Zeke. Grow. Be the man you want to be—with or without her."
A pause stretched between them, heavy but calm.
"Thanks, Georgia."
"Anytime."
He heard the smile in her voice.
"Now get some sleep. You're no good to anyone if you burn yourself out over ghosts."
He managed a faint chuckle. "Goodnight."
"Night, Zeke."
The call ended, but her words lingered—warm and steady in the quiet of the room.
Cassidy wasn't lost. She was just living. And maybe, someday, their paths would cross again.
But for now, he would wait—without chasing shadows.
**