Rebirth: Love me Again

Chapter 112 Echoes of an Uncelebrated Night

[VICTOR]

Sinclair sighed, taking a deep breath as he stepped closer, his eyes scanning Victor's face. "Come inside, Vic. It's getting colder out here."

"I'm fine," Victor replied, shrugging as if he hadn't been suppressing a shiver for the past hour. "It's not that chilly."

Sinclair gave him a lingering look but held back any further insistence. "Suit yourself," he said at last, stepping away. "But don't wait too long."

Victor nodded, only half-hearing the old man's words.

As the door closed behind Sinclair, he pulled out his phone and dialed Eve's number for what must have been the tenth time. His heart sank with each unanswered ring until it went to voicemail, and he found himself staring blankly at the dark screen.

Victor left her another message, his voice softer this time, almost pleading.

"Eve, just . . . let me know you're okay, all right? I'll be here."

Minutes passed, and he kept his gaze fixed on the path, watching the rain hit the ground in a relentless rhythm. He tried calling again, but now the call wouldn't even connect.

It was as if her phone had vanished from the world.

Worry crept in, wrapping around his heart with icy fingers. "Did something happen to her?" he murmured, dread filling him.

No, he reasoned. Eve was well-protected—her bodyguards were Fay soldiers, trained spies, the best protection anyone could have.

She was likely safer than anyone else at this very moment. He clung to that thought, but his heart refused to settle.

The minutes dragged into hours, and the rain showed no sign of letting up. The lights he'd set up had dimmed, their glow a sad shadow of the warm atmosphere he'd planned.

The sushi ship sat untouched, and the roses and balloons in the small corner looked faded, like a dream slowly slipping away.

Victor had done everything he could to make this night perfect, and now, standing here alone, he felt foolish for believing it might work out.

By the time dawn began to break, a pale gray light spreading across the horizon, his phone was silent, the hope of a response dwindling with each minute.

. . .

Morning came with a dull, pounding ache in my head, like I'd been struck.

I groaned, pressing a hand to my forehead, only for a chill to run through me, followed by the unmistakable tickle in my nose.

Great.

A cold.

I fumbled for the medicine box beside my bed, quickly downing some tablets and praying they'd at least take the edge off the inevitable wave of symptoms.

With bleary eyes, I glanced at the bedside clock. My heart nearly stopped as I registered the time.

"Oh no! Sinclair and Sebastian's birthday party!" I muttered, rubbing my temples as if that could turn back the clock. "Wait . . . it's my celebration too," I realized, a pang of guilt sinking in.

I hadn't just missed their party; I'd missed my own birthday celebration too. The realization was like a punch to the gut.

I forced myself up, hastily pulled on some clothes, and grabbed my car keys. I wasn't going to miss this, not entirely.

"Sebastian, let's go," I said and at the side, Sebastian quickly throttled toward me.

The painkillers had started to work their magic, dulling the ache enough that I could drive without too much difficulty.

My heart pounded the entire way to Sinclair's mansion, anxiety gnawing at me. I couldn't shake the image of everyone waiting for me, of Sinclair disappointed, maybe even hurt, by my absence.

I did promised to be back last night, but I fell asleep instead.

When I finally arrived, the mansion was quieter than expected. Decorations still clung to the walls, remnants of the party lingering like echoes of laughter and celebration I'd missed.

Streamers hung loosely, and a banner with "Happy Birthday" printed in bold letters fluttered in the gentle morning breeze.

The sight filled me with a deep, sudden guilt.