Chapter 2 Not Just Another Building

Adrian

I was in my office, about to head out to check on the library. We owned a couple of businesses, but the library held a different kind of value. It wasn't just another investment-it was a piece of my heart, built in memory of my mother and father. While my brothers had free rein to manage our real estate holdings-apartment complexes, office spaces, and a few luxury developments scattered across the city-I made it clear from the beginning that the library was mine to handle.

They could chase profits; I was chasing something else. Legacy.

A knock on the door drew me out of my thoughts. I looked up from the papers on my desk.

"Come in," I said, already guessing who it might be.

The door eased open and Alexis, my PA, stepped in with her usual quiet confidence.

"Sir," she said, her voice calm but alert

"Your afternoon meeting with Ethan has been moved to tomorrow morning at 9 a.m.," Alexis informed me, glancing at her tablet. "His PA just called."

"Thank you, Lexi." I slung my leather bag over my shoulder. "I'm heading home. If anything urgent comes up, call me on my personal number."

She gave a small nod. "Of course, sir. Have a good evening."

I offered a brief smile, already halfway out the door. The truth was, I wasn't heading straight home-not yet. The library had been on my mind all day, and I needed to see it for myself. Not for business. For peace.

It was the one place that reminded me who I was before the deals, before the expectations. Before I had to grow up too fast.

The city moved past my window in a blur of steel, glass, and fading sunlight. I leaned back in the backseat of the black SUV, one hand resting on the armrest, the other absently rubbing at my jaw. The driver knew where to go-he didn't need directions when it came to the library.

I should've gone home. That's what I told Lexi. But some days, the silence of my apartment was heavier than noise. Too many memories in those walls, and none of them particularly comforting.

I glanced at my phone. A few emails waited. One from a potential investor, two from contractors about a property downtown. I ignored them all.

There were always deals to close. Buildings to develop. Meetings to attend.

But the library... the library never asked anything of me. It just gave.

Built in honor of my parents-two people who gave everything to raise three sons the world now called successful. But only I knew how much they sacrificed to make that happen.

The driver turned down the street, the familiar structure coming into view. The library stood quietly at the corner like it always had. A refuge. A promise kept.

And tonight, I needed that more than I wanted to admit.

The SUV slowed to a stop just outside the library gates. I stepped out, adjusting the cuff of my shirt as the familiar scent of old books and blooming jasmine from the front garden greeted me. The sky had begun to turn gold, streaked with traces of orange-a reminder that the day was winding down, but the library still had an hour before closing.

The lights inside cast a warm glow through the tall arched windows. From the outside, it looked almost sacred-exactly how I wanted it to feel. A place set apart from the chaos outside.

As I pushed the door open, the soft chime above it rang out, subtle but comforting. The sound of quiet conversation and the gentle hum of pages turning filled the air.

A few readers were tucked into corners-students, an elderly woman I'd seen before, and a young father flipping through a picture book with his daughter on his lap. That sight made something shift in my chest. Moments like these were why I kept this place alive.

"Mr. Blackwood," came a familiar voice, warm and steady.

I turned to see Mr. Poison approaching from one of the aisles, a stack of books in hand and his ever-present smile beneath that graying beard. He moved with calm purpose, always dressed in that pressed brown vest and matching tie, as if he was guarding something sacred. And in a way, he was.

"Evening, Poison," I said, shaking his hand firmly. "Everything running smoothly?"

"Smooth as ever. We've had a good crowd today-quiet, focused. Just the way we like it," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "We even had a few first-timers sign up for library cards. You'll be glad to know the poetry section got some love today."

That made me smile. My mother's section.

"You've been doing a fantastic job," I said, meaning it. "I hope you know that."

He nodded, eyes softening. "Thank you, sir. But this place runs on more than good management. It runs on heart. And you've given it that."

I glanced around again, pride swelling quietly in my chest.

"Still," I said, "doesn't hurt to have someone like you keeping the place alive when I'm not around."

Mr. Poison chuckled. "The walls remember your footsteps, Adrian. They know you're never far."

I nodded slowly, letting the moment sit between us. Then I stepped forward, moving deeper into the space I had built not for profit, but for peace-for remembrance.

I walked slowly through the aisles, fingers trailing along the polished wood shelves. Each book held stories, but this place-it held mine. Memories of my mother sitting at the kitchen table reading aloud, my father sneaking in history texts between long work hours. They didn't have much, but they gave me words, and words became everything.

I stopped in front of the poetry section. My mother's favorite. Her handwritten dedication still hung in a simple frame just above the shelf:

"For those who seek comfort in quiet places-may you always find it here."

I read it every time, as if it were the first. Tonight, the words hit harder than usual.

Behind me, laughter bubbled softly from the children's corner. The little girl was now reading to her father, her voice animated, mispronouncing every third word-but beaming with pride. I smiled. This was the kind of noise I welcomed.

I took a long breath, letting the stillness wrap around me before turning back toward the entrance.

"Heading out?" Mr. Poison asked, now behind the front desk.

"Yeah," I said, offering a small nod. "Just needed to see it... to remind myself why everything else matters."

"You're always welcome here," he said simply.

"I know," I replied. "That's why I built it."

I stepped outside into the cool evening air, the door closing behind me with a gentle thud. The sun had dipped below the buildings now, shadows stretching long across the sidewalk. I slid into the back seat of the SUV, the driver already waiting.

"Home," I said, settling back against the leather seat.

As the car pulled away, I glanced once more at the glowing windows behind me. The library stood tall, quiet, alive. A beacon in the dark.

And for tonight, that was enough.