The black sedan was a tomb. Ben sat inside, the only sound the ragged pull of his own breath. He had parked here few minutes ago, staring at the dim glow of a window across the street. Ella's window.
His head throbbed. A fresh, sharp pain right above his temple. He'd done that. He'd slammed his forehead against the steering wheel until the world dissolved into white sparks, trying to knock the memory loose. It didn't work.
The memory was a film playing behind his eyes, clear and cruel.
One Hour Earlier.
The champagne flute felt brittle in his hand. Around him, the engagement party swirled. Laughter, music, the low hum of money.Clara's world.
"Benjamin. A word." Her father, Charles, did not wait for a reply. His hand guided Ben firmly by the elbow to a quieter corner. The grip was proprietary. "The Andersons are here. He runs the syndicate that's backing the new waterfront deal. Our deal. The one you now have a stake in."
Ben nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Victoria will bring him over. You will listen. You will smile. And agree with everything he says about market fluidity. Then you will excuse yourself and find my daughter. She's displeased. Her heel is pinching, or the canapes are bland. Fix it."
"He sounded like a directive". A small test in a long series of tests.
"Of course."
He was presented to Mr. Anderson, a man with a smile that didn't touch his eyes. Ben listened. He smiled. He agreed. "The liquidity is remarkable," Ben said, the words ash in his mouth. Mr. Anderson clapped him on the shoulder, already looking past him to the next connection.
Ben found clara by the terrace doors. She was a vision in ivory silk, her beauty a perfect, cold thing. "There you are. My heel." She lifted her foot slightly. "It's new. It's torture. Do something."
He knelt. It felt less like chivalry and more like submission. He adjusted the strap, his fingers clumsy. "Is that better?"
"Marginally." She looked down at him, her expression unreadable. "My mother says you were talking to Anderson. Did you sound intelligent or earnest? Never be earnest with them, Benjamin. It reads as weak."
He stood up, the heat of humiliation crawling up his neck. "I just agreed with him."
"See? Weak." She sipped her champagne. "Now, circulate. The Grantleys just arrived. Remember, her charity board is the one we need for the spring gala. Be useful."
He moved through the crowd. He was useful. He fetched a fresh drink for Clara's mother. He laughed at a damp joke from a senior partner. He stood silently while Charlotte's uncle discussed Ben's new role at the firm, the one tied to the marriage, as if he weren't there.
"Solid kid. Good fit for the family office. Keeps things tidy," the uncle said, finally glancing at him. "You keep her happy, son. That's your job now."
The hollow ache in his chest, the one that had been a quiet companion for months, widened into a chasm. He looked at Charlotte across the room, holding court. He saw the transaction. Her beauty and name for his compliance and usefulness. The contract was a lease agreement on his own life.
The party faded into a blur of glittering noise. He performed. He obeyed. He fixed and fetched and smiled. Each small command was a thread, and he was letting himself be woven into a tapestry that belonged entirely to them.
The final moment came as guests began to leave. Clara's mother approached, her perfume a cloud of jasmine and frost. "The car is bringing around the Harrisons' luggage. They're flying to Nice tonight. Benjamin, be a dear and ensure their driver has the correct suitcase. The leather one is Hermès. Don't let him mix it with the Tumi."
He stood very still. For a second, the word 'no' formed on his tongue. It burned. Then he saw Clara watching him, one perfect eyebrow arched. He saw her father's expectant glance. He felt the weight of the House, the car, the title, all the gilded things they had given him, pressing down.
Fuck! In his head.
"Right away," he said, his voice flat.
He walked out into the crisp night air. He supervised the transfer of the correct suitcase. He waved as the car pulled away. Then he got into his own car and drove on autopilot, through streets that grew familiar, until he was here.
Now
Back in the tomb of his car, the silence was complete. The obedience of the evening sat in his stomach like a stone.
He had done everything right. He had been useful. He had kept things tidy. And the hollowness inside him was now a vast, echoing chamber.
He thought of Ella. The memory was a physical pain. Ella asking about his day and actually waiting for the answer. Ella tangled in his sheets, her hair messy, laughing at nothing. The quiet peace of a Sunday morning with her, a peace that asked for nothing in return, that wasn't a...
Damn! what have I done?
"He groaned under his voice"
He had traded good things. For a life of fetching drinks and adjusting straps and ensuring the correct suitcase was loaded. For the privilege of being a solid kid. A good fit.
Karma. The word was too kind. This was just cause and effect. He chose the glitter, and now he was choking on the dust.
A sob, dry and wrenching, broke from him. He cried with a deep, weary emptiness. He cried for the man he was before, a man he could now barely remember. He cried because he missed his old friend and roommate Jax, who would have seen this coming a mile away. He cried because he missed Ella so much it felt like a missing limb.
When there were no tears left, only a cold, clear exhaustion, there was one thought. One lifeline to a world that was real.
His hands were steady now, numb. He picked up the phone. The screen was bright in the dark.
He scrolled on his phone.
He didn't hesitate. And dialed jax number.
He lifted the phone to his ear. It rang once.