TWICE the HEARTACHE

Lucy

I wasn't happy. I couldn't leave the prison of my relationship. I needed to be around people who truly loved me, so I booked a flight from Cape Town to Johannesburg-without telling Mike.

The silence on the flight was deafening. My thoughts were louder than the engines. I questioned myself, doubted myself. Am I running away? Or do I just need to see my family, to feel loved again?

A few hours later, I stood at my parents' front door. I rang the doorbell twice. Footsteps approached.

"My baby! Oh my God," my mom cried, pulling me into a tight hug.

"Hey, Mom," I said softly, hugging her back. God knows I needed that hug more than anything.

"Dan, come look who's here!" she called.

My dad appeared at the top of the stairs. "Hey sweetheart, come here-give me a hug," he said, arms open wide.

I held back tears. I just wanted to break down and cry.

I couldn't do it-I couldn't let them see me like this. I didn't want to break their hearts.

"Hey, Dad," I said, hugging him tightly. He held me for a moment, then gently pulled back and looked into my eyes.

"You don't look well, sweetheart. Is everything okay?" he asked, concern written all over his face.

I cleared my throat. "I'm okay, Dad. I've just been working a lot."

I hated lying to him, but I didn't have a choice.

"Go put your bags in your room and come down for a cup of coffee," Mom said.

"Mom, I just need to rest for a few hours. I'll come down later," I replied, offering her a tired smile.

She didn't push-just gave a small nod.

I walked to my bedroom, surprised to find it exactly the way I had left it. I dropped my bags on the floor, collapsed onto the bed, and sleep took me almost instantly.

Mila's Pov

I love Fridays-they're my favorite. We get to leave school early, and I usually stop by the library afterward. But just as I was lost in my thoughts, my phone buzzed with a message. I pulled it out and checked.

It was from Mom: "Hey Nana, your sister is home. Maybe come home early today?"

A huge smile spread across my face. I nearly jumped with excitement. Lucy was home! I had missed her so much, and I had so much to tell her. In that moment, I made up my mind-I was skipping the library today.

I said my goodbyes to my friends and headed straight home.

I got home and flew the door open. "Hey, Mom! Hey, Dad!" I called out as I ran upstairs.

I passed my own room and went straight to Sissy's. I opened her door quietly-she was fast asleep. But something didn't look right. Her face was pale, tense. There was something off... I could feel it.

I was about to step out when she suddenly she started shaking, hugging herself tightly. Then she whispered through clenched teeth, "No... please stop, you're hurting me... Nooo!" Her voice cracked into a scream.

I rushed to her side. "It's okay, Sissy. It's just a dream. I'm here-it's me. You're safe," I said, wrapping my arms around her.

"Mimi..." she breathed, her voice trembling as she held onto me like her life depended on it.

Her eyes fluttered open, wide with fear and confusion.

"Mimi..." she breathed, clutching me tight.

I held her like she used to hold me when I was little and afraid of the dark. I didn't say anything. I just let her cry.

Her body trembled against mine, and I felt her tears soak into my shirt. For the first time in a long time, I realized how fragile my big sister had become. She was always the strong one-the protector, the calm voice in the storm. But now... now she was the one unraveling.

"I've got you," I whispered, brushing the hair from her face. "I'm here now."

She didn't respond-just closed her eyes and sank into my arms like it was the only place she felt safe. Her breathing started to slow, but I could still feel her heart racing. Whatever she was dreaming about... it wasn't just a dream. It was a memory.

I wanted to ask her what happened. I wanted to demand answers. But I knew this wasn't the time. She looked like she hadn't slept in days, and whatever she'd been through, it had drained her completely.

I looked around her room-my room too, once upon a time, when we used to sneak into each other's beds during thunderstorms or when one of us had a bad day. The posters on the wall were faded. Her favorite books still lined the shelves, untouched. It was like time had frozen in this space. But Lucy wasn't the same girl who had once danced around this room in her pajamas, singing into a hairbrush.

Something had broken her.

And I wasn't sure if I knew how to fix it.

---

I must've stayed there for almost an hour, holding her as she drifted in and out of sleep. Eventually, she relaxed just enough that I could slip out of bed without waking her.

Downstairs, I found Mom in the kitchen, quietly chopping vegetables. She glanced up when she saw me.

"How is she?" she asked, her voice low.

I hesitated, then shook my head. "Not okay."

Mom nodded slowly, as if she'd known this all along but hoped she was wrong. "She wouldn't talk much when she came in. Just said she needed rest."

"I think something bad happened," I said quietly, leaning against the counter.

Mom stopped chopping. "I know."

Her eyes met mine, and for a second, I saw the same worry I felt reflected in her face. The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken fear.

"She needs us," I said.

"She always has."

---

Later that evening, I sat in the living room alone, flipping through photos on my phone. There was one of Lucy and me from last Christmas, both laughing like the world was light. She looked so alive in that photo-her smile wide, her eyes bright. Not like now.

I looked toward the stairs. I wanted to run up and hold her all over again. But something told me this time, hugs wouldn't be enough.

This wasn't just about exhaustion. Or stress. Or being tired of work.

Lucy had come home for a reason.

And I was going to find out what it was.

No matter what.

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.

Mike

The key turned, but the door didn't open.

Mike frowned, trying again. Nothing.

She had changed the locks.

A slow, cold fury crept into his chest. He stepped back, staring at the door like it had personally betrayed him. Lucy had never done this before. She always left the door unlocked when she expected him-hell, even when she didn't. This was new. And very intentional.

He pulled out his phone, opened their message thread. Empty. No explanation. No heads-up. Not even a fight to excuse this kind of silence.

Cape Town was her home. He had made sure of that-paid half her rent, kept her close, kept her in line. Now, it was like she'd vanished.

He didn't like being blindsided.

Without hesitation, Mike dialed a number tucked deep in his contacts. A government connection. The kind of man who didn't ask why.

The call was brief.

"She flew to Johannesburg. Three days ago," the voice said. "No new address yet."

Mike's grip tightened around his phone. Johannesburg?

She thought she could just run? Just disappear?

He didn't say a word as he ended the call, jaw clenched, mind racing. No one just left him. Not like this. Not her.

He stood there for a moment longer before turning away, his steps sharp and focused.

She was in Johannesburg. Which meant it was only a matter of time.

Mike leaned against the cold hallway wall, phone in hand, lips pressed into a tight line. He made another call-to someone who could pull phone records. Quietly.

"Get me the last numbers she contacted before she vanished," he said, voice low and sharp.

An hour later, the report came in.

Three numbers.

All linked to her workplace. A client line. Reception. And the office manager.

No personal numbers. No suspicious men. No hotel check-ins. Nothing he could grab onto.

He stared at the screen, frustration curdling into something darker. Either she wasn't talking to anyone... or she was smart enough to hide the trail.

But Lucy wasn't like that. She was scared of confrontation. Afraid to cross him.

So who's helping her now?

His mind raced through possibilities-friends, her sister, maybe someone at her job? Someone feeding her ideas? Encouraging her to leave?

His jaw tightened. That was more dangerous than any man she could've run off with. Someone giving her the courage to walk away.

He paced the hallway again, mind running wild.

She was in Johannesburg. He was sure of that much.

She could be with anyone. Saying anything. Rewriting the story of who he was. Making herself the victim.

He wouldn't let that stand.

He dialed his pilot without hesitation.

"Get the jet ready. I'm flying out tonight."

He didn't know where she was yet, but he'd be damned if he stayed here waiting.

The private jet touched down smoothly on the Johannesburg runway just before midnight. Mike didn't wait for the cabin doors to open before grabbing his phone.

He was already dialing as the wheels hit the tarmac.

"Get me a location check on Lucy Jacobs. I need her exact address."

The voice on the other end was calm but efficient. "She's at her parents' place-no sign of her elsewhere."

Mike's shoulders relaxed just a fraction. At least she wasn't hiding in some stranger's flat or who-knows-where.

But relief didn't last.

No.

What irritated him more was that she'd left without a single word. No message. No call. Just vanished like a thief in the night.

He gritted his teeth, pressing his lips tight.

"She's back under my roof soon enough," he muttered.

Outside, the city lights flickered, but Mike's mind was already racing ahead-toward the morning.

He wouldn't disturb her parents tonight.

Patience was a bitter pill, but a necessary one.

Mike stepped into his sleek Johannesburg apartment, the quiet hum of the city below contrasting sharply with the storm inside his mind. He tossed his bag onto the couch but didn't sit. Restlessness clawed at him.

He paced the floor, the luxury around him feeling cold and empty.

Sleep wasn't coming.

His thoughts kept circling Lucy-her silence, her sudden disappearance, the defiance in leaving without a word.

He checked his watch. Hours until dawn.

He finally sank into the leather armchair, fingers tapping impatiently on the armrest. He tried to focus on the city lights, the steady pulse of life outside his window, but his mind raced too fast.

Minutes felt like hours.

Then, finally, the first pale light of morning crept over the horizon.

---

The street was quiet as Mike pulled up in front of a modest house in a leafy Johannesburg suburb.

He stepped out, adjusting his jacket, his jaw set tight. The moment was heavy-no sudden confrontations tonight. Respect, or maybe strategy, kept him from just barging in.

He raised his hand and rang the doorbell.

Inside, Lucy's mother stirred from sleep, the sound pulling her to the door.

She opened it slowly.