My eyes drifted from the horizon to my reflection in the glass. I barely recognized the man staring back at me. Dark circles under my eyes, my once sharp features softened by exhaustion. The lines around my mouth had deepened, not from smiling, but from frowning—worrying, constantly thinking about what would go wrong next. Success had a way of turning victories into battles, and I was constantly on the front line, no respite in sight.
I leaned back in my leather chair, the silence thick around me. The celebration earlier had been loud, filled with the clinking of glasses and congratulatory pats on the back. My latest deal had been finalized, a multi-billion-dollar acquisition that would once again keep Frost Industries at the cutting edge of innovation. But now, in the quiet aftermath, I couldn't shake the emptiness gnawing at me.
This was supposed to be everything I wanted. Growing up with nothing had fueled my desire to have it all. I wasn't content with just being successful—I needed to dominate, to leave my mark on the world. But as I sat here, in this penthouse office worth more than I could have ever imagined as a kid, it felt hollow. The empire I'd built around me had become a cage.
The room was dim, the only light coming from the faint glow of my laptop. A notification blinked in the corner of the screen—a message from Victoria, my wife. My chest tightened as I clicked it open.
"Dinner at eight with the Westfields. Don't be late."
That was it. No "how are you," no "congratulations on the deal." Just another obligation on a list of social appearances that Victoria valued more than anything else. The dinner was about connections, networking, making sure we stayed on top of the social ladder. But I couldn't care less.
I glanced at the framed photo on my desk—our wedding day, ten years ago. Victoria looked radiant, her smile wide and genuine. I, on the other hand, looked like a man who believed in something. Believed in love, in partnership, in the life we'd build together. But now? Now it was hard to remember what that man had felt.
Lately, it had become glaringly clear that Victoria was more in love with the lifestyle than with me. She was all about the image—the glamorous parties, the high-society friends, the endless stream of events that made our life look perfect to anyone on the outside. But inside, behind closed doors, there was nothing left.
I closed the laptop and ran a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of it all press down on me. My chest felt tight, not just from the stress of work, but from the constant sense of being alone in a room full of people. Even in my marriage, I was isolated.
The door to my office opened, and my personal assistant, Mark, stepped in quietly. "Mr. Frost, it's getting late. You should head home."
Home. The word felt like a lie. "I'll leave soon," I replied, my voice sounding distant even to me. "Go ahead without me."
He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Good night, sir."
As he left, I glanced at my watch. 9:15 p.m. The dinner with the Westfields would be well underway by now, but the thought of sitting through another evening of mindless chatter with Victoria glued to her phone or fawning over the next big investor made me want to stay exactly where I was.
My phone buzzed on the desk—a text from Victoria again. My hand hovered over the screen, but before I could open it, another notification appeared. This one from an unknown number.
"There's something you need to know. We should talk."
I frowned, reading the message again. Something about it felt… wrong. I tapped on the number, but no name appeared. My mind raced through possibilities. A disgruntled employee? A business rival trying to stir trouble? Or maybe it was nothing—a hoax.
But deep down, I knew it wasn't nothing. A sinking feeling settled in my gut as I stared at the message. I could feel the edges of my carefully constructed world starting to fray, like a string being pulled loose from a finely tailored suit.
I stood up and grabbed my jacket, feeling the weight of my exhaustion as I slipped my arms through the sleeves. My mind was a storm of thoughts—about the message, about Victoria, about the suffocating isolation I'd been living with for longer than I cared to admit. I needed to get out of here.
The elevator ride down was stifling. The weight of the silence pressed in, making my chest feel tighter. The lights on each floor blinked slowly, a countdown to something I couldn't quite name. By the time I stepped out into the parking garage, the air felt cold, too cold for a summer night.
Sliding into my car, I hesitated for a moment, gripping the steering wheel tightly. My hands trembled slightly, a sign I had been pushing myself too hard, but I ignored it. I turned the key, and the engine roared to life, the low purr a welcome distraction from the thoughts swirling in my mind.
As I pulled onto the highway, my thoughts circled back to the text from the unknown number. Who could it be? My instincts told me it was something important—something I couldn't ignore. The more I thought about it, the more it ate at me. The lights from the city blurred around me as my foot pressed harder on the gas.
Suddenly, a flash of headlights appeared in the corner of my vision, coming toward me at an unnatural speed. I barely had time to react. Tires screeched, and I felt the car lurch violently as metal collided with metal.
The sound of the impact reverberated through my body. My head slammed against the steering wheel, and everything spun out of control. My vision blurred, and all I could hear was the relentless pounding of my own heartbeat.
And then, everything went dark.