"Not all ghosts come from the grave—some step into your elevator."
— Dylan Reed
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Dylan's Point of View
"You know you haven't pressed your floor number, right?"
The sound of her voice sent chills racing down my spine. Slowly, I turned, and froze.
There she was, smiling at me as if no time had passed, as if the last five years had been nothing but a dream.
"I see you're still forgetful when it comes to elevator buttons," she teased lightly. "You're a bit too spoiled, you know that, right?"
Her words washed over me, but I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. My throat was dry, burning with disbelief.
"Asher…" I croaked, her name catching in my chest like broken glass.
How was this possible? For five years I searched. For five years I found nothing, not a trace. And now, here she was, smiling like the ghost of a life I'd lost.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," she said softly. Her smile wavered, concern flickering in her eyes. She reached out, her hand trembling toward my face...
But the elevator doors slid open. Staff members stepped in, bowing politely. "Good afternoon, Mr. Dylan."
The spell shattered.
I bolted, slipping past them and out into the hall before the doors could close. Their startled voices faded behind me as I ran down the stairs, a shadow of myself.
Each step drove me deeper into the memories I'd buried. My chest tightened, air escaping me in ragged gasps. Pain tore through me, sharp and merciless.
I didn't even notice when I stumbled out of the building. The world tilted, my vision blurred.
"Oh my gosh, are you alright? Somebody help!" A voice reached me faintly, but the face was lost in the haze. My body gave out, and darkness swallowed me whole.
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Andre's Point of View
I walked slowly into our mansion. I had been summoned by my father, and honestly, I would have preferred to be anywhere but here. It had been months since the last summons, but nothing had changed. Nothing ever did.
He was the same ruthless man I'd come to recognize at the age of seven. The air here felt tainted, thick with secrets, lies, and the faint echo of my mother's warnings: Don't become like him, Andre.
"Mr. Callahan, your father is waiting in the study," one of the guards said, his voice clipped, professional. The guards weren't just staff, they were pawns, and some probably had blood on their hands.
I smirked without humor. Of course he was in his study. Where else would the king sit but on his throne?
When I pushed through the heavy oak doors, Richard Callahan was there. Immaculate suit. Silver cufflinks. The scent of expensive whiskey lingering even though it was barely noon. He didn't look up, eyes fixed on a thick file spread across his desk.
"You took your time," he said coldly.
"And yet, here I am," I replied, dropping lazily into the chair opposite him. Sarcasm was my only shield here.
His eyes lifted, sharp and assessing. "Do you know why I called you back?"
"Because the mansion misses my winning personality?"
He slammed the file shut, irritation flashing across his features. "Because it's time you stopped running. This family business will not manage itself. I built it. Your mother never understood what it takes, but you will. You must."
My chest tightened. The business wasn't the problem. It was the shadows he dragged it through, the same ones that had taken Mom.
"I'll pass," I said smoothly, leaning back. "I like my life without the bloodstains, thanks."
His jaw clenched. Before he could respond, a knock sounded at the door.
"Dad? Andre?" Elena's voice drifted in, and my anger thinned instantly. She had that effect.
"Come in, sweetheart," my father called, suddenly softer.
She stepped in, calm and graceful, her hair tucked neatly behind her ears. Innocence in a house that thrived on corruption. Her eyes found mine, and she smiled, genuine and unguarded.
"Andre, you came."
I stood, my sarcasm forgotten, and kissed her head. "For you, Lena. Always."
She laughed softly. "You say that like you had a choice."
"I never do when it comes to you," I whispered, meant only for her.
My father's throat cleared, breaking the moment. "Sit, Elena. Your brother and I were just discussing his future."
"No," I corrected sharply, my gaze cutting back to him. "You were trying to force me into your mistakes. My future isn't for sale."
Silence stretched, heavy. My father's eyes darkened. Elena's hand brushed mine, grounding me.
Then my phone rang. I glanced at the screen; Dylan. Relief flickered before I answered.
"Hey, man," I said, only to freeze at the voice on the other end.
"Excuse me," a woman said quickly. "The owner of this phone is currently in the hospital, he's unconscious. Your number was the first on his emergency list, so I called."
My blood ran cold.
With everything happening around Dylan lately, dread gripped me.