Two billionaires with a bride

The shipwreck took everything. Dad's investments and businesses were all lost in one terrible wave.

At the dinner table, I sat. The soft rhythm of chopping filled the room as our new maid, still on trial, carefully sliced vegetables onto my plate to prove herself.

The scent of fresh vegetables lingered in the air. Just then, Dad's phone lit up on the table, its screen glowing sharply against the dim room, breaking the quiet like a sudden knock at the door.

Dad wasn't around to pick up. The phone buzzed again, flashing a Gmail alert across the screen. I glanced at it, hesitated for a second, then picked it up. His passcode? Easy. Everyone at home knew it except the new maid we were trying out for a job.

The message was from the company Dad had just partnered with

"Hello, Mr. Patrick," the message began. "We regret to inform you that there was a shipwreck during a severe storm."

My stomach tightened as I read on.

"The ship hit a large rock," it continued, "and broke apart almost instantly."

After a long and careful investigation, we were able to locate the ship at the bottom of the sea.

We are ashamed to share that all your investments with us, along with every load entrusted to our care, were lost with the ship instantly.

We can only imagine the pain and devastation this brings, and the hardships it may cause for you and your family. Please know that this loss weighs heavily on us, too.

Despite every hope and effort, we were powerless to prevent this tragedy. And for that, we are deeply sorry.

The moment I finished reading the message, tears came. Hot, quiet, and impossible to stop. I slid under the table, pressing my face into my sleeves, hoping no one would hear my moans.

Mom had warned him. She'd said it more than once Don't put everything into one ship, Patrick. Profit isn't worth the risk. But Dad never listened. He believed in big leaps. And now... this.

His desperation to make huge amounts of money beat us.

I broke down, sobbing the kind of sobs that feel like they're ripping you apart from the inside out. My chest ached with every breath out, and no matter how much I didn't want to, nevertheless, I blamed Dad. I blamed him in the silence between each trembling inhale, out, in the hollow spaces grief carved into me. The hurt ran deeper than words, and I hated that part of me still longed for him even as another part screamed in betrayal.

A footsteps are coming near. The new maid we were still trying out walked in. She paused, maybe unsure of what she was seeing. I didn't look up.

Why had I let myself fall apart this far? Right here, in the open, where someone could see the whole collapse? But unconsciously, I could not control myself anymore

I slowly grabbed a tissue paper from the dining table to wipe away my tears.

"I was okay," I told her in a humble voice, and then I made an effort to grin at her, but very inconvenient. Going back to the subject,

My thoughts were a storm I couldn't quiet, each one into the other with no room for peace. Across the room, the maid reentered, our eyes locking for a brief, uneasy second. There was something fragile in her gaze, like a question she was too afraid to ask out loud.

I saw it there, clear as day: the doubt, the quiet shame. She thought she'd failed. That her food, her effort, her very presence wasn't enough to secure a place in the Patrick household. Well, I understood her without a word being said.

In a short time, she hurried away. My head was resting on the supper table. I couldn't control the tears that uncontrollably fell over my cheek. Dad's phone suddenly came up once more.

Curious to check, sharp and promptly. I opened the notification, hoping for something different, something that might wash away the sadness. But it was just another Gmail message. A repeat. Again. Forwarded by Mr. Davy, Dad's assistant, like some kind of echo that wouldn't fade.

How that might be true filled me with anguish. All of Dad's hard-earned money vanished in an instant. I turned off the phone so I wouldn't receive any more depressing messages. Unfortunately, I yelled at the maid to leave when she returned with yet another variation of food. Startled, she walked out right away. I became aware that I was harsh with her. But that being said, I am currently in that circumstance.

In my reverie, I recalled how Mom had cautioned Dad against investing all of his life money in the business he had recently met, but Dad refused to be cautious.

But if the purchase had gone through successfully, I can only think how successful Dad would have been. The imagination sticks in my head. But unfortunately not.

I cried as I fell asleep on the dinner table after getting up to use the passkey to lock the dining room. It took me twenty minutes to wake up. I had trouble sleeping. Tears were streaming down my blue shirt like raindrops tracing memories on glass. My tears were uncontrollable.

In a short time, I went to my room, took a bath, changed shifts, opened the dinner door, and made an effort to look presentable.

Now, Dad is about to check his Gmail and see whether the ship has arrived in the country. Dad quickly begins looking for his phone.

As usual, Mom was residing on one of her social media accounts, as she enjoys the most.

To hide the phone from him, I hurried to the dining room.

He began to complain bitterly about not being able to find his phone. "I dropped my phone on the dinner table while looking for it," Dad shouted, heavily. In any circumstances, I think the phone may have been taken by the new trial maid. Instantly, Dad declared angrily, "I will not hire a thief into my house."

Dad would complain, but Mom never answered. Dad had to be in the workplace tomorrow morning to check his mail on his personal computer since Mom was too preoccupied with her social media life.

Which Dad complained about repeatedly. Dad impatiently awaited the following day. He hurries down to the office so early to check his mail and find his misplaced phone by tracking it.

"Hello, Mr Patrick," Mr Davy and the entire team said to me. "My assistant,

Mr Davy, why do you look so awful this morning?" In a hurry?'

Mr Patrick asked. Just as Mr Davy opens his mouth to speak, Mr Patrick interrupts, "Well! Okay! Alright! I'm eager to get into my Gmail account. I don't want to talk this morning. Mr Patrick hurriedly remarked, "Mr Davy, tell the cleaner to clean my office in a minute

He quickly checked his Gmail account and found a lot of messages and more still loading, but he first opened the business he was partnered with.

Regretfully, he realised there had been a shipwreck, and the ship was broken. Mr Patrick's face pales in an instant, his eyes searching the room as if for help that won't come then, with a shuddering breath, he collapses, his body folding to the floor as though the world itself has let go of him.