Chapter 6 Chapter 06: Empty Throne

GARRISON’S POV

Rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of my corner office, turning the Seattle skyline into a smeared watercolor of lights and shadows. I sat behind the massive mahogany desk with a crystal glass in my hand, swirling the amber whiskey as it caught the low glow from the desk lamp. The bottle beside me was already half empty, but the burn in my throat did nothing to dull the sharp edges of the day.

Another shareholder had pulled out this afternoon. Two more had left voicemails hinting at the same. Fraud allegations. Forged documents with my signature. Whispers that Donovan Enterprises was rotting from the inside. I knew exactly where the poison had started. Henry. My own father had spent weeks planting seeds, smiling at board members while he sharpened the knife.

I took another long swallow and leaned back in the leather chair, the material creaking under my weight. Home waited across town in that cold penthouse, but I had no intention of walking into it tonight. Violet would be there with her perfect hair and sharper tongue, ready to list every way I had failed her again. The thought alone made my jaw tighten.

A soft knock sounded on the door. My assistant, Marcus, stepped in without waiting for an answer. He looked tired, tie loosened, eyes flicking to the bottle on my desk before he cleared his throat.

“Sir, it’s past ten. The cleaning crew finished on the executive floor. Are you heading home soon?”

I set the glass down harder than I meant to. “No. Tell the driver to go. I’m staying here.”

Marcus shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable. “Your wife called the main line earlier. She sounded… distressed. She said she was cramping badly and heading to the hospital. She mentioned another miscarriage.”

The words landed like a punch I had half expected. I rubbed my face with one hand, feeling the stubble that had grown in over the long hours. Violet had wanted this pregnancy more than anything, or at least the image of it. Another perfect accessory to parade in front of her circle. And now it is gone again. My chest tightened with a mix of guilt and exhaustion. That was our child too, even if the marriage around it felt like a cage.

I pushed to my feet, the chair rolling back with a low scrape. “Which hospital?”

“Mercy General. She asked for you specifically.”

I grabbed my coat and keys, the whiskey’s warmth fading fast under a fresh wave of tension. “Call ahead if you can. Tell them I’m on my way.”

The drive through the rain-soaked streets felt endless. Wipers slashed back and forth while my mind replayed the pattern I knew too well. Violet would blame me for not answering sooner. She always did. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles whitening, and tried to focus on the road instead of the knot growing in my stomach.

When I finally reached the hospital, the sterile lights and quiet corridors hit me like a slap. I found the private wing quickly and pushed open the door to her room, expecting tears and accusations.

Instead I saw Henry standing beside the bed, one hand resting on Violet’s shoulder while she cried softly into a tissue. My father looked every bit the concerned patriarch in his tailored suit, silver hair slicked back, steel-gray eyes calm as he murmured something low to her. The sight stopped me cold in the doorway.

What the hell was he doing here? He had not spoken a civil word to me in years, yet he had beaten me to my own wife’s bedside.

Violet looked up first. Her auburn hair spilled across the pillow, green eyes red-rimmed and accusatory the moment they landed on me. “Garrison. You finally decided to show up.”

I stepped inside and closed the door behind me with a quiet click, rain still dripping from my coat onto the linoleum. “I came as soon as I heard. How are you feeling?”

She let out a bitter laugh that turned into a sob. “How do you think? I called you three times. Three times, and you were too busy hiding in that damn office again. If you had been home, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe our baby would still be here.”

The familiar guilt twisted deeper, but I kept my voice even. “I’m sorry I missed the calls. Work has been—”

“Work?” Henry cut in smoothly, straightening to his full height. His presence filled the small room like smoke. “Always work with you, son. Tell me, how exactly are you fit to run a family when you cannot even manage to answer your phone? How are you supposed to lead a company when simple responsibilities slip through your fingers?”

I felt my temper flare hot and fast. “Stay out of this, Henry. This is between me and my wife.”

He smiled, the kind that never reached his eyes. “Between you and your wife? I am family too. And from where I stand, you are failing at both. Incompetent. Reckless. Just like always.”

Violet turned her face away, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks, but she did not contradict him. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.

I took a step closer to the bed, fighting the urge to walk right back out. “I drove here through pouring rain the second I heard. What more do you want from me tonight?”

Henry’s voice dropped lower, laced with that old poison. “What I want is for you to grow up and stop hiding behind excuses. You have been crying about the same ghost for years now. Blaming me for your mother’s accident like some spoiled child who cannot accept reality.”

The mention of my mother hit like a live wire. I saw the cliff edge in my mind again, the way her car had gone over, the official report that called it an accident while I knew better. I knew what he had done. The lies he had spun afterward. The way he had looked at me when I accused him and everyone had believed him instead.

“You killed her,” I said quietly, the words slipping out before I could stop them. My hands clenched at my sides. “We both know it. Do not stand here pretending you care about my family when you destroyed the only real one I ever had.”

Violet gasped softly, but Henry only shook his head with exaggerated sadness. “There he goes again. Always the victim. Always pointing fingers instead of taking responsibility. No wonder your marriage is falling apart and your company is bleeding shareholders.”

That was enough. The room felt too small, the air too thick with their combined judgment. I turned on my heel and yanked the door open, the handle cold under my palm.

“Garrison, wait—” Violet called, but her voice held more irritation than plea.

I did not wait. I strode down the corridor, past nurses who glanced up curiously, and pushed through the exit into the rain. It soaked me again in seconds, but I welcomed the sting. By the time I reached my car, my shirt clung to my skin and my breathing came hard.

I drove straight back to the office instead of the penthouse. The building was mostly dark now, only security lights glowing in the lobby. I took the private elevator to my floor and stepped into the empty space that felt more like home than anywhere else.

The moment the doors closed behind me, the frustration boiled over. I swept my arm across the side table near the entrance, sending a heavy glass vase crashing to the floor in a spray of shards. The sound echoed satisfyingly. I grabbed the edge of a chair and hurled it against the wall, the wood splintering on impact. Papers from my desk followed, fluttering down like defeated flags.

I stood in the middle of the destruction, chest heaving, rain and sweat mixing on my face. Everything I had built felt like it was slipping through my fingers. The company my blood and sleepless nights had created. The sham of a marriage that existed only on paper. The father who would rather see me ruined than admit what he had done.

My mind drifted then, unbidden, to her.

The girl from that stormy night at the club. Messy light brown hair, hazel eyes wide with a mix of fear and reckless need. The way she had tasted like vodka and desperation, the soft sounds she made when I touched her. For those few hours she had not known who I was, and I had not cared about the empire or the betrayals. She had simply needed escape, and for once I had given it without calculating the cost.

I sank into my chair, the leather cool against my damp back, and stared at the rain-streaked windows. Where was she now? Had she made it home safely after slipping out of the hotel room before dawn? I had woken to an empty bed and a pathetic pile of coins on the nightstand, like she thought she owed me something.

A bitter laugh escaped me. She had run from whatever haunted her, just like I ran from my own ghosts every single day. In that brief collision of bodies and pain, she had felt like peace. Real peace. Not the cold performance Violet offered or the endless war with Henry.

I picked up the whiskey bottle again, took a slow drink, and whispered into the empty room.

“Where are you?”