Chapter 3
The apology was swift, yet it solved nothing. Alex felt a wave of exhaustion. What could he do—fire Ethan?
Ethan was his most capable right hand, familiar with every process and resource, holding a wealth of key information.
More importantly, Ethan's actions were framed as protecting his rhythm. He couldn't fire a core executive for missing family news.
"We'll discuss this when I return," Alex concluded, yet the suffocating tightness in his chest refused to fade.
"Understood, Mr. Sterling. About today's meetings..." Ethan immediately reverted to his professional, business-like tone.
"Cancel them all," Alex said. "I won't be in. Organize all important materials and send them to my email."
Hanging up, he leaned against the cold wall, breathing the antiseptic air. His attempt to assign blame felt like punching cotton.
Ethan hadn't even overstepped; he stood firmly at his post of "duty," leaving Alex feeling strangled by an invisible rope.
Over the next two days, Alex stayed. He had his driver bring clothes and a laptop, setting up a desk. He ordered expensive nutritious meals, but Emma barely ate.
He asked about a private nurse, but she declined, saying the staff was enough. When he tried to help her, she either reached first or avoided him.
She didn't flare up, shout, or blame him. She simply used a calm, chilling indifference to erect an invisible barrier between them.
Even standing right beside her, he felt more excluded and shut out than he ever had in his life.
The next afternoon, Ryan Lane arrived, exhausted with bloodshot eyes, carrying a stainless steel thermos. He nodded coldly at Alex before walking straight to Emma.
"Emma, feel better? Mom said special milk is best after surgery. I found a place nearby that simmered this carefully. Drink it while it's hot."
Ryan's voice was raspy as he clumsily unscrewed the thermos and poured a glass of milk.
Emma adjusted herself against the pillow, showing her first soft expression in days. "Thank you, Ryan. Was everything at the funeral home okay?"
"It's handled," Ryan said, handing her the bowl. After she took a few sips, he turned to Alex. "Alex, your company is busy. You don't need to stay. I've got her."
The words were polite but meant for him to leave. Alex felt a flush of shame. "I'm not busy. I can work online. Thanks for handling Mom's affairs. Tell me if you need help."
Ryan's smile was cold. "Where were you when she called for three days and couldn't find you? Why didn't you offer to help then?"
"Ryan," Emma whispered softly, giving her brother a slight shake of her head to stop him.
Ryan fell silent, but his eyes were full of resentment and contempt. The judgment of a common family made Alex's status and wealth feel utterly hollow.
Unable to sit still, Alex went to the fire exit to smoke. Neither the smoke nor the nicotine could suppress his rising irritation and growing panic.
The death and the illness were mirrors reflecting his failed life. He wanted to fix things but found himself blocked at every turn.
His assistant used corporate logic and his wife used silence. Even his brother-in-law showed him contempt. Alex felt like a clumsy, redundant intruder.
That night, Alex tried to process emails. Ethan's files were perfect, but Alex couldn't focus on the familiar reports and contracts at all.
Ryan's words about the three days of missed calls echoed endlessly in his mind.
He checked his call logs. Deep in the history, he saw several missed calls labeled "Home" at midnight from weeks ago.
He remembered those nights at his penthouse, ignoring his phone while in meetings or entertaining clients.
Most were calls from Ethan, which he always returned. He scanned the office logs Ethan kept and found three calls marked "Unimportant."
During the tragedy, Ethan noted "Mrs. Sterling?" with a question mark and "Politely Rejected, Not Transferred."
Alex stared at the lines, his skin crawling. Did Ethan really not know what was happening?
Ethan knew a Mrs. Sterling was calling but dismissed her. Was he following Alex's unspoken lead?
Alex remembered complaining about Emma calling the office for trifles. Ethan had remembered and executed that order perfectly.
He closed the page, his chest aching. He'd tried to find proof that he wasn't blind to his own life.
Instead, he found chilling details—how his trusted system had coldly separated him from his home. He realized he enjoyed this efficiency.
By the third day, Emma could move. Alex reached out to help, but she gently brushed him away and used her IV pole for support.
Outside, a few patients sunbathed in the garden under a gray sky and barren trees.
"Alex," she said, staring out at the garden. Her voice was soft but steady. "Let's get a divorce."
Alex felt his blood turn cold, his entire body frozen in place. "What... what did you say?"
"Divorce," Emma repeated. "I've been thinking about it since the night you stormed out. Mom's death and my illness just made me certain."
"No!" Alex blurted out, his voice cracking. "I was a jerk, Emma. I failed you. Give me a chance to change.
"Family comes first now. The funeral and the illness were just accidents. We can't end it over an accident."
"It wasn't an accident, Alex." Emma turned with tired eyes. "It was inevitable. This tragedy just exposed the rot.
"Our problems started long ago. You were too busy to see them, and I'm too tired to remind you."
"Tell me the problems. I'll change!" Alex stepped forward to grab her hand, but her gaze stopped him.
"The problem is that your world only contains Nova Entertainment. I'm just a background prop in your life, only needed when it's convenient."