CHAPTER 5
Andrew worked late into the night, the city sprawled out beneath him like a living canvas. Lights flickered and pulsed, a rhythm he had woven into his life, but he remained transfixed on the documents in front of him.
Numbers glared back, contracts demanding his attention and projections outlining an empire he had meticulously built. Control, familiar, and safe, these were the pillars of his existence.
"You've been staring at that page for ten minutes."
Andrew didn't look up, too focused on his self-imposed task. "I've been reading," he replied tersely.
Nancy stood a few feet away, arms loosely folded, a soft resolve in her posture. "You haven't turned it."
"I don't need to."
"That's not how reading works."
"It is when you already know what it says."
With a slight tilt of her head, she regarded him pointedly. "Then why are you still looking at it?"
A brief silence hung between them before he reluctantly flipped the page.
"There," he said, his voice clipped. "Satisfied?"
"Deeply," she returned with a wry grin.
Ignoring her smugness, he reached for his pen. But as his hand hovered over the paper, it stilled for a fraction of a second, a hesitation that did not go unnoticed.
"You're tired," she noted.
"I'm working."
"And that's not the same thing."
Andrew took a deep breath, frustrated at being seen so clearly. "It is for me."
She closed the distance between them, her gaze lingering on the papers scattered across the table. "You're rechecking the same numbers."
"I don't make mistakes."
"Everyone makes mistakes."
"I don't."
Nancy let out a breath, a sigh, but kept her voice steady. "Andrew,"
"I said I'm fine."
"And I didn't say you weren't," she shot back, mirroring his earlier insistence with an unwavering tone.
That gave him pause. He finally shifted in his chair to really look at her. Nancy met his gaze calmly and steadily, refusing to back down. A part of him admired her persistence, even as it irked him.
"…You repeat things," he observed.
"Only when they're useful."
"Not entirely true ."
"So is your definition of 'fine.'"
For a moment, they held each other's eyes, and then, unexpectedly, he let out a quiet huff of laughter. The sound caught him off guard, it was brief, almost reluctant, but it was there.
She noticed, of course. But rather than comment, she turned toward the kitchen.
"Eat something. Then you can go back to pretending you're indestructible."
"I'm not pretending."
"Mm."
Andrew watched her as she moved about the kitchen, a peculiar ease evident in her actions.
It was as if the entire penthouse had rearranged itself to accommodate her presence rather than the other way around.
He was unsettled by it, yet he also found it strangely comforting.
By the time he stood, the tightness in his chest had returned, not sharp but persistent, a reminder he chose to ignore.
He walked toward the kitchen, loosening his tie slightly, his movements slower than usual, but controlled enough that most people wouldn't notice. Except, of course, Nancy.
"You pushed too hard today," she said after a moment of watching him pour himself a glass of water.
"We've been over this," he replied.
"And I'm repeating it."
"I noticed."
"You needed rest."
"I had work."
"You always have work."
"And you always have an opinion."
With a faint smile, she replied, "It's part of the job."
Sighing, he leaned against the counter, the weight of their conversation settling in.
"Why this?" he asked abruptly.
"Excuse me?"
"This job," he clarified.
She looked taken aback, eyes narrowed in thought. "That's an odd question."
"Answer it."
After a beat, she seemed to weigh her words. "It pays well," she said initially.
Andrew arched an eyebrow. "That's it?"
"Not really," she added, her voice more serious. "I've seen what happens when people don't have someone around, when they're sick and alone."
His expression didn't shift, but something in his gaze hardened. "And?"
"And I don't like it."
"That's not a reason."
"It is to me."
He held her gaze, the weight of her sincerity pressing against him.
But he eventually looked away, unwilling to delve deeper. "You're not going to get that here," he said flatly.
"Get what?"
"Attachment. This is temporary. You do your job. I tolerate it. That's the arrangement."
Nancy paused before responding. Her voice was steady. "Yeah, we'll see about that."
Andrew's jaw tightened, and irritation sparked within him. "There's nothing to see.
Just then, the doorbell rang.
He frowned, glancing toward the door. "Expecting someone?"
"No," Andrew replied, annoyance slipping under his tone, but the bell rang again, insistent.
"Stay here," he ordered, but she followed him as he pushed away from the counter.
When Andrew opened the door, his expression shifted but didn't soften. It became controlled, steely in a different way. "Victoria."
The woman standing outside radiated confidence. Elegant and composed, she belonged in a world far removed from Andrew's. Her gaze flicked over him with quick assessment.
"You look terrible," she stated bluntly.
"Nice to see you too," he replied, struggling to mask the irritation creeping into his tone.
Without waiting for an invitation, Victoria stepped inside. Nancy lingered at a distance, her presence observant and quiet.
Victoria's gaze landed on her almost immediately, curiosity etching her features. "And who is this?"
"Nancy," she answered before he could. "Caretaker."
Victoria's brows lifted, disbelief etched into her expression. "Caretaker? That's new."
"It's unnecessary," Andrew interjected flatly.
"And yet she's here," Victoria countered, her tone pointed.
Nancy offered a polite smile. "I get that a lot."
Victoria studied Nancy for a moment longer, assessing, then turned back to Andrew.
"I came because I heard," she said, her voice shifting to business.
Andrew's expression hardened. "You shouldn't have."
"I'm your sister."
"That's never stopped you before."
Nancy watched the tension simmer between them, years of unresolved conflict hanging heavy in the air.
"Is it true?" Victoria pressed.
Andrew remained silent, his refusal to respond louder than any words.
The silence dragged on, until Victoria finally exhaled slowly. "Lung cancer?"
The reality of those words hit Nancy like a wave. She stilled, absorbing their weight as Andrew's expression turned unreadable.
"You've always been well-informed," he replied evenly.
"This isn't business gossip, Andrew."
"No, it's not."
She stepped closer, her voice dropping. "Three months?"
Andrew held her gaze, refusing to confirm or deny, and simply let the silence do the talking.
Victoria's composure wavered momentarily before she steadied herself. "You should have told me."
"Why?" he asked, the question piercing.
"Because I deserve to know."
"Do you?" he shot back.
Nancy watched them, helpless at the weight of history between them. This was more than just animosity; it was unresolved pain.
Victoria straightened, pulling her composure back together. "I didn't come here to fight."
"Then you chose the wrong place," Andrew said coolly.
Eyeing Nancy again, Victoria shifted gears. "How bad is it?" she asked, her tone pointed.
"It's not her place to say," Andrew interjected, tension coiling within his voice.
"Yes, it is," Victoria challenged.
With a measured tone, Nancy attempted to intervene. "He needs rest. That's what matters right now."
Victoria's gaze shifted back to Andrew, assessing the situation anew. "You're staying?" she asked Nancy.
"For now," Nancy confirmed, meeting Victoria's intense gaze with her own steady resolve.
Victoria looked back at Andrew, something shifting in the air between them. "Good," she said, not backing down.
Andrew frowned. "That's not your decision."
"No," she agreed. "But it's a good one."
A moment of silence passed before she turned toward the door. "I'll be back," she stated firmly.
"I won't be here," Andrew countered.
"Yes, you will." And then she was gone.
The silence that followed clenched tightly around them.
Nancy exhaled slowly. "She's intense."
Andrew stood rooted to the spot, his gaze fixated on the closed door. "She won't stay away," he said, as if he were stating a fact.
"Is that a bad thing?" Nancy asked softly.
"Very," Andrew replied, his expression steel-hard.
"Why?"
"Because people only come back when they want something."
"That's not always true," she countered, the fire in her eyes igniting.
"It is in my world," he replied, his voice devoid of emotion.
As she studied him, Nancy shook her head lightly. "Maybe your world's the problem."
He met her gaze, silence thick between them. Then, looking away, he felt a tightness in his chest.
"Get some rest," she urged gently.
This time, he accepted her advice without protest.
Later that night, as the city lights cast flickering patterns across the room, Andrew sat by the window, lost in thought.
Nancy moved quietly behind him, the absence of her usual banter leaving a palpable void.
For the first time, he didn't feel in control, not of his health, his family, or even the woman who had brazenly stepped into his carefully constructed world and refused to leave.
Beneath it all, something else began to crack, a shift that even he couldn't ignore.