Sunday mornings were usually my quiet time. No meetings, no press calls, just the soft hum of the estate and sunlight slipping through the tall windows. But that morning, peace came with something more.
I had just finished my coffee when the first email arrived. The scandal that had threatened to ruin us had somehow turned into a success story. The antibiotics that everyone once doubted were now selling out in every major city. Headlines called it a miracle recovery. Our stock was rising.
Then my phone rang. It was my secretary, barely able to hide her excitement.
"Sir, the antibiotics are completely sold out. We've made millions in less than two days. People are demanding more."
I let out a slow breath and leaned back in my chair. For the first time in weeks, I felt the weight lift off my chest.
"Thank you," I said quietly, and ended the call.
There was one person who deserved credit for this. Lizzy.
She had handled the media storm perfectly, turning suspicion into sympathy, and doubt into demand. I sent her a quick message.
Come over. Let's ride like old times.
She replied almost immediately. On my way.
By the time she arrived, the horses were ready. She looked radiant as always, confident and sharp, that familiar spark in her eyes.
"Congratulations, Max," she said, swinging herself onto the saddle. "You just turned a scandal into a goldmine."
I smiled. "Couldn't have done it without you."
We rode side by side through the open fields. The air was cool and crisp, filled with the sound of hooves against the earth. For a while, it felt like we were back in those carefree days when nothing existed outside this estate. She laughed easily, and I found myself laughing too, forgetting everything else for a moment.
But the illusion didn't last long.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of her. Rose. She was standing by the path near the garden, suitcase still beside her, watching us.
She must have just returned from her grandmother's.
Her face was calm, but her eyes said everything. A flicker of hurt, quiet and raw, before she turned and walked toward the house.
I stopped riding for a second, watching her disappear behind the hedges. My chest tightened.
"I'll be right back," I told Lizzy, dismounting.
But before I could follow Rose, Lizzy called out, her tone light but deliberate.
"Max, wait. You have to see this," she said, holding up her phone. "The media is running a full story. You're trending everywhere."
I hesitated, torn between the woman who had just walked away and the one standing in front of me with a smile that could disarm a storm.
"Just a minute," Lizzy pressed, stepping closer.
By the time I glanced back toward the house, Rose was gone.
Later that evening, I ordered dinner for three.
"Make Rose's favorite," I told the chef.
The table looked perfect, warm light spilling over the dishes, everything carefully arranged. Lizzy chatted easily about interviews and the growing demand for our product. Rose sat quietly, barely touching her food.
I tried to draw her in. "How's your grandmother?"
"She's fine," she said, her tone distant.
Lizzy smiled, though even she seemed to sense the tension.
We finished dinner in a silence that stretched too long to be comfortable. Rose finally excused herself, mumbling something about being tired, and disappeared upstairs.
Lizzy's chauffeur arrived shortly after. I walked her to the door.
"Well," she said softly, a hint of something unreadable in her eyes, "that was… awkward."
"She's been through a lot," I said quietly.
Lizzy gave a faint smile. "So have you. Good night, Max."
I watched her car disappear down the long driveway before turning back to the house.
Inside, the light from the dining room still glowed faintly, the plates untouched, the scent of Rose's favorite meal fading into the night.
It should have been a victory. The business had recovered, the world was applauding, and everything I'd built was thriving again.
After Lizzy left, the house felt different quieter somehow. The laughter and rush she always carried with her were gone, leaving behind a silence that settled deep into the walls. I found Rose standing by the window, her arms folded, staring out into the garden.
For a moment, I just watched her. She looked calm, but I could feel the distance between us thick, heavy, and my own doing.
"Rose," I said quietly.
She didn't turn. "You finally decided to talk?"
Her voice wasn't angry. It was worse tired. The kind of tired that comes from waiting too long for something that never came.
I took a step closer. "I know I've been distant," I began. "And I've handled things badly. I thought keeping busy would make it all make sense again, but all it did was push you away."
She turned to face me then, her expression unreadable. "And now?"
"Now," I said, swallowing the lump in my throat, "I realize I've been taking you for granted. You've always been here, even when I gave you nothing but silence. I'm sorry, Rose."
The words felt heavier than I expected. Real. Honest.
She didn't answer right away, just looked at me really looked and for a moment I wasn't sure she'd ever trust me again.
"I promise I'll do better," I said, my voice low. "I don't want to lose what we have, not again."
The silence stretched, but this time it wasn't painful. Just… uncertain.
Then I exhaled, trying to ease the tension. "You know, after everything that's happened, I think we should throw a party."
Her brow lifted slightly, the faintest trace of surprise softening her face.
"A celebration," I added. "For the team, for the work, for surviving all this madness. Something small, something good. We could use a night to breathe again."
A hint of a smile tugged at her lips. "A party?"
"Yes," I said, stepping closer. "No reporters, no business talk. Just people who matter. You… me… a little peace for once."
She studied me, quiet for a long moment. Then she nodded slowly. "Alright, Maxwell. Let's see if you mean it."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding and reached for her hand. "I do," I said softly. "More than you think."