It's been a week since my world shattered. Seven days since I lost the two people who meant everything to me.
The pain still feels like a fresh wound, but life moves on, indifferent to my grief.
The Blackwood family's silence is deafening. No condolences, no flowers, no words of sympathy.
Instead, they've been busy implementing the new merger structure, as if my parents' passing was merely a minor inconvenience.
I'm too numb to fight. Too exhausted to care.
The past week has been a blur of tears, funeral arrangements, and condolence visits from family friends and relatives.
Andrew's visit was the only one that brought some comfort.
My ex, yet still the love of my life.
We parted ways two years ago, but the connection between us remains unbroken.
As I opened the door, Andrew's familiar smile greeted me, and for a moment, the weight of my grief lifted.
"Alessia," he said softly, his eyes filled with compassion.
I stepped aside, letting him in.
We hugged, and I felt a sense of comfort wash over me.
"Hey," he whispered, his voice gentle.
We pulled back, and I gestured to the living room.
"Sit," I said, trying to compose myself.
Andrew settled onto the couch, his eyes never leaving mine.
"I'm so sorry about your parents," he said, his voice cracking.
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.
"Thanks," I whispered.
Andrew reached out, taking my hand in his.
"I'm here for you, Alessia."
His touch sparked a sense of calm.
We sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the ticking clock.
Finally, Andrew spoke up.
"Want to talk about it?"
I nodded, and the words spilled out.
Everything.
The merger.
Blackwood's ruthlessness.
My parents' passing.
Andrew listened attentively, his expression growing darker.
When I finished, he squeezed my hand.
"You're not alone, Alessia."
We exchanged numbers, and Andrew suggested a walk to clear my head.
The fresh air helped.
As we strolled through the quiet neighborhood streets, Andrew asked about the merger.
"I'm sorry to bring it up now," he said, "but I need to understand."
"It's okay," I replied, my voice firm.
"The Blackwood family is ruthless. They don't care about anyone but themselves."
Andrew's expression turned grim.
"I had no idea."
We walked in silence for a moment before I continued.
"They're pushing for the merger, ignoring my parents' legacy."
Andrew's grip on my hand tightened.
"You can't let them win."
I smiled wryly.
"I won't."
As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the streets, Andrew turned to me.
"Let's get you home."
I nodded, feeling a sense of relief.
At my doorstep, Andrew pulled me into a gentle hug.
"I'll come by every day," he promised.
"Check on you."
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.
"Thank you," I whispered.
Andrew's eyes locked onto mine.
"Alessia, I'll always be here for you."
My heart swelled.
For the first time since my parents' passing, I felt a glimmer of hope.
Maybe, just maybe, I wasn't alone.
As Andrew walked away, I watched him go, feeling a sense of gratitude.
He'd always been my rock.
Now, more than ever, I needed him.
But reality intruded, and Andrew's visit ended, leaving me with the crushing weight of my grief.
Now, I sit in my parents' mansion, surrounded by echoes of happier times.
The silence is oppressive, punctuated only by the ticking clock.
I wander through the empty halls, searching for solace.
Every room holds a memory.
Every memory cuts like a knife.
I pause in front of my parents' favorite painting, a watercolor landscape.
Tears well up as I recall the countless times we'd sat together, admiring its beauty.
The doorbell breaks the silence.
I hesitate, unsure if I can face another visitor.
But something about the ring seems different.
I make my way to the door, my heart heavy.
As I open it, I'm surprised to see Rachel, my trusted assistant, standing on the porch.
"Alessia, I'm so sorry to intrude," she says, her eyes filled with compassion.
"What is it, Rachel?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"It's the Blackwood family," she says, her expression grim.
"They're requesting a meeting to finalize the merger details."
My heart sinks.
Can they really be so insensitive?
Do they truly not care about the pain they're causing?
For a moment, anger surges through me.
But it's quickly extinguished by exhaustion.
What's the point of fighting?
I've lost everything.
"What do you think I should do, Rachel?" I ask, feeling defeated.
Rachel's expression softens.
"We'll face this together, Alessia."
But as I look into her eyes, I know I'm alone in this fight.
The Blackwood family will stop at nothing to achieve their goals.
And I'm the only one standing in their way.
The day of my parents' funeral arrived, and I was a mess of emotions.
As I stood at the entrance of the church, greeting mourners, I saw a carrier approach.
"Flowers for Alessia Thompson," he said, handing me a bouquet.
I took the flowers, expecting a heartfelt note from someone who truly cared.
But as I read the card, my anger flared:
"Alessia, my heart aches for you. Losing your parents is unbearable. I wish I could be there to hold you, to comfort you. My father's opposition weighs heavily on me, but know that my thoughts and love are with you. In this darkest hour, I want you to know that I'm committed to our future, to building a life together that honors your family's legacy. With all my love and condolences, Ethan Blackwood."
The words seemed sincere, but the fact that he wasn't there, couldn't face me in person, ignited a fire within me.
Why hide behind a note?
Why let his father control him?
I thought of all the times Ethan had spoken about his family's influence, his father's control.
Was this his way of defying his father?
Or just a hollow gesture?
My mind reeled with questions.
But one thing was certain: Ethan's absence and cowardice hurt more than his words could heal.
I regretted everything.
The engagement.
The merger.
Trusting him.
Thinking he was different.
As I looked around the church, filled with people who genuinely cared, I realized Ethan didn't deserve me.
Or my family's legacy.
My gaze fell on Andrew, standing across the room, his eyes locked onto mine.
He'd been my rock these past few days.
Not Ethan.
The service began, and I took my seat, flowers still clutched in my hand.
As the eulogies poured in, celebrating my parents' lives, I felt Ethan's note burning in my pocket.
A reminder of his weakness.
A symbol of his family's insincerity.
After the funeral, I confronted Alexander.
"Did you know Ethan sent flowers?" I asked, my voice low.
Alexander's expression turned grim.
"I did. But Alessia, he's trying."
"Trying?" I snapped.
"That's not trying. That's hiding behind his family's name."
Alexander placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.
"Alessia, don't make any rash decisions. Not now."
But it was too late.
My decision was made.
Ethan Blackwood didn't deserve me.
Or Thompson Enterprises.