Chapter 5 The Weight Of His Return

Dominic Pov

The graveyard was cold and heavy with silence. The wind cut through the bare branches, carrying

with it the scent of damp earth and old flowers.

Rows of weathered stones stretched endlessly, but my eyes found only one.

I stood before it,my chest rising and falling slowly as my dark eyes lingered on the portrait of a woman carved into the granite. Under her face, the elegant words were etched

clearly:

Helena Halvourne, 30 years old.

My wife.

The woman I had loved all my life.

The woman who had died eight years ago while giving birth to our son, Matthew.

She would have been thirty-eight years old today.

I remained unmoving, but my heart was heavy. The sharp ache inside me was the same as the day she left. Slowly, I lifted a hand and rubbed at the corner of my eye where a single tear threatened to fall.

Eight years. Yet it still felt like yesterday. The wound had never healed. She was not only my wife..she was my childhood friend, the only person who truly understood me.

Losing her had left a hole so deep nothing had been able to fill it.

"Happy birthday," I whispered, my voice rough, low.

For a moment, I just stood there, staring at the cold stone as if waiting for her to answer me.

Then, slowly, I bent down and placed a single flower on her grave. My fingers lingered on the smooth surface.

"Continue resting, Helena," I said softly, my throat tightening.

Straightening, I squared my shoulders and turned to leave the cemetery. My footsteps were calm, measured, powerful but each step carried the weight of sorrow.

My driver was waiting by the car and quickly stepped forward to open the door. I slid into the backseat wordlessly, and the car pulled away, leaving the cemetery behind.

"Sir..." the driver began carefully.

"Take me to Richard," I cut him off, my voice steady but cold.

"Yes, sir." He glanced at me through the mirror, but I had already closed my eyes, sinking into silence, my expression calm but distant.

The ride was quiet, the only sound the steady hum of tires against the road. Minutes later, we entered the wide driveway of a tall mansion. The heavy gates parted on their own, as if expecting me.

Two figures stood waiting.

As soon as I stepped out, the man at the front called warmly, "Welcome, Big Brother." Richard. My younger

brother.

My lips curved faintly. "Good to see you, Rich," I said, embracing him.

The hug was firm, weighted with years of absence. I hadn't seen him in so long. After Helena's death, I couldn't bear to remain in this country, where every corner screamed of her. So I had taken Matthew and left. Only three days ago had returned...to stand by her grave on her birthday.

"I'm happier to see you," Richard said, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for stopping by."

I gave him a small nod. When our embrace broke, my sharp eyes shifted to the young woman standing beside him.

"Yeah. Meet my wife, Celesta," Richard said quickly. I remembered...I'd sent a gift and message when they wed, but I hadn't come myself.

Celesta smiled politely. "You're welcome, sir," she said softly.

I shook my head. "No 'sir.' Just Dominic."

Her smile grew more natural. She nodded.

"Let's go in," Richard said, leading us into the mansion.

Soon, we were seated around a large dining table filled with dishes. The warmth of the atmosphere

wrapped around us, though my presence calm, quiet..cast a weight over it.

"I hope you'll stay back this time," Richard said carefully. His tone was calm, but I could hear the sadness underneath, the fear that I'd vanish again.

I only gave a faint smile and didn't answer. Instead, I asked, "Where's your daughter? What's her name again?"

"Kiara," Richard replied with a soft smile. "We took her to her grandparents."

I nodded and went on eating.

Then, a sharp ringing cut through the calm atmosphere.

Celesta's phone.

"I'm sorry, I'll go take this," she said, rising quickly. She looked at Richard. "It's Marceline." With that, she stepped out.

My hand froze. My eyes flickered sharply.

Marceline.

That name dragged me back to the memory I had been trying to bury.

Three nights ago.

The night I returned to this country.

I had gone to a club, sitting quietly in the corner, nursing my solitude. And then...her. A woman with that name. Eyes that carried secrets, boldness I hadn't seen in years. She had made a request that should have offended me, should have made me dismiss her as cheap. But I hadn't. Instead, I was intrigued.

That night, she had pulled me into a fire I thought was long dead. Hunger I believed buried came alive, raw and uncontrollable. Desire consumed me until she had begged me to stop.

Even now, my throat tightened at the memory. I could still hear her soft moans, her body trembling beneath mine, her breath hot against my skin.

My hand trembled as I reached for my glass. I cleared my throat, took a deep sip of water, trying to drown the storm inside me.

"Are you okay?" Richard's voice cut through my thoughts.

"Yeah," I muttered faintly, setting the glass down and forcing calm into my face.

Richard studied me for a moment, then continued, "I was saying..."

"I will stay back," I interrupted suddenly, letting out a long breath.

Richard's eyes widened.

"I won't leave again," I said firmly. "So... get people to clean up the mansion."

My voice was steady, but inside me weighed years of running, years of grief. Closing my eyes, I let the heaviness of my decision settle.