If hell had an office building, it would look exactly like the Watson headquarters.
For weeks, I wasn't a student, a friend, or a boyfriend-without-a-title. I was a machine.
Meetings. Reports. Audits. Mergers. Negotiations. Financial reviews. And the worst part —fake smiles from relatives who wanted nothing more than to watch me fall.
But I did it. Every task. Every requirement. Every impossible test they threw at me.
I survived.
I earned the inheritance.
And the day they finally decided to hand everything to me — the day they officially announced that I was the next head of the Watson Corporation — was also… my birthday.
They called it "perfect timing."
I called it "a joke."
The boardroom was packed. Executives. Investors. Cousins I barely remembered. Everyone clapping. Congratulating me. Like they didn't spend the last month hoping I'd crumble.
A giant banner hung across the wall:
"Happy 18th, Keifer Watson — Welcome to Leadership!"
I hated it.
They all wanted to party. There was champagne. Music. A giant cake. People shoving gifts and business cards at me.
But the whole time…all I could think about was her.
Jay-Jay.
What she would say if she saw me in this stupid suit. What face she'd make if she saw my name on the giant Watson screens. If she would laugh. If she would be proud.
Or if she would still look at me like the enemy.
I left the celebration without saying goodbye.
Walked out the back door. Tie undone. Breathing cold London air like it was the first real thing I'd felt in weeks.
I pulled out my phone.
Her contact was still pinned. Still starred. Still "My Mrs. Watson💫".
My thumb hovered over the call button for a full minute. My chest felt tight — not fear, not nerves…
Just hoping.
I pressed call.
Ringing.
Come on. Please.
Ringing.
Please, answer me just once.
Ringing.
I closed my eyes.
Click.
Voicemail.
Again.
She didn't answer.
Just like every time.
I swallowed hard and stared at the screen until it dimmed. I wanted to throw the phone. Scream. Punch something.
But I didn't.
Instead, I whispered under my breath:
"Happy birthday to me."
And for the first time since she left…I felt the sting of what real loneliness tastes like.
She was supposed to be here. Or at least… talk to me. Even just a "hey."
But she was gone. And no amount of power, wealth, or inheritance could fill the space she left behind.
I walked away from the building, letting the cold hit my skin.
If she wasn't ready to talk…then I'd wait.
I would wait forever if I had to.