Page 87 of Mr. Wilde

“No,” I snap, the word echoing off the glass.

“Your eyes have huge dark bags under them. They’re bloodshot. Your skin is pale,” she continues, unfazed by my outburst. “You look like you haven’t eaten or slept in days, much less seen the light of the sun.”

I stare at her. My jaw is tight. What is her point? That I’m falling apart? Duh. News flash. I’m well aware.

“Well, have you?” she asks.

“No,” I mutter, the defiance leaking out of me.

Her voice drops, turning into something much softer, a tone I haven’t heard from her in all the years she’s worked for me. “Max. I love you like you were my own son. I’d do anything for you.” Her sad eyes glisten with tears. “I’m really worried about you.”

My face falls. I drop my head into my hands, my fingers digging into my scalp. I try desperately to keep from losing it. I’ve carried the weight of Isla’s disappearance for so long. My father lives in a fortress of denial, and my mother is skating the outer edges of sanity before tumbling into clinical depression. I’ve channeled every ounce of my soul into this business, trying to outrun my demons.

But my guilt over not finding Isla is killing me.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” I choke out, the words feeling like shards of glass in my throat.

“What, son?” she asks gently.

“Being the only one left who’s still fighting for her,” I whisper. “The one who has to stay strong while everyone else dissolves. I’m tired, Loretta. I’m so goddamn tired.”

Loretta doesn’t move. She has the poise to sit and wait, her presence acting as a steady anchor while I drift. The care spilling from her reminds me so much of the mother I once knew. The one who used to laugh in the kitchen of our family home before her world was ripped in two.

Looking at what’s happened to my parents, and even to me, it’s no wonder Broken Heart Syndrome is a real thing. Cassidy’s father died of it, and sometimes I feel like I’m just a slower version of the same diagnosis. The crushing weight of our grief has made us empty shells of the humans we once were.

I look up, meeting Loretta’s kind green eyes, and I decide to go all in. “My sister disappeared about ten years ago,” I say, my voice cracking on the number.

Loretta gasps, her hand flying to her mouth.

“She went on a cruise with some college friends and never returned,” I continue, the words spilling out like a confession. “We’ve searched and searched. We worked with the authorities here and abroad, fought that lousy cruise line, Azure Crest, who gave us the bare minimum. We hired numerous private investigators. My father has offered millions in reward money. My mother has even contacted psychics. And all of it has gotten us nowhere.”

I thumb over my shoulder to the servers humming in the next room. “The very reason Secure Sphere exists is from the man-hours I spent attempting to find Isla. I built the company by creating cybersecurity software specifically to track her digital ghost. Then I tried to parlay it into a profitable business just to occupy my mind so I wouldn’t spend every minute of every day on the dark web chasing leads that go nowhere.”

I take a ragged breath. “I manage to do okay when I can keep the thoughts of Isla being lost at bay. But whenever I visit my parents, the black hole opens up and swallows me. And on top of all of that... I met someone.”

Loretta leans in, her expression softening even more.

“She has enough of her own trauma to deal with, Loretta. She certainly doesn’t need mine.” I drag my hand down my face. “I’m not in a good place to start a healthy relationship. But with her, I finally feel alive. However, my survivor’s guilt is a vice. Why should I be able to enjoy a thriving business and a healthy relationship when Isla can’t? I’m terrified if I try to reach for more before I get my shit together, it’ll only cause Cassidy more harm. And I can’t lose one more person I care about.” I’m starting to sound unhinged, even to my own ears.

Loretta stands, walks around my massive mahogany desk, and wraps her arms around me. She smells like peppermint and home. The home I remember. Not the awful place with a ten-year-old Christmas tree.

I have to push down the lump in my throat, my body trembling with the effort not to come completely undone in her arms.

“How does anyone move on after something like this?” I whisper into her shoulder.

“You don’t move on, Max,” she says, her voice muffled by my hair. “You move with it. But you don’t have to carry it alone. And that girl you found? Maybe she’s not looking for a man who has it all together. Maybe she’s simply looking for one who knows how to stay standing even when the world is crumbling beneath him.”

Loretta’s embrace is firm, the kind of steadying pressure that forces the air back into my lungs. She pulls back just enough to look me in the eye, an expression of maternal fierceness staring back at me.

“I wish I could tell you why such horrific things happen to good people,” she says softly. “I’m so sorry for all you, Isla, and your parents have gone through. It’s incredible that you were able to build something like this,” she extends her arms wide, gesturing to the glass and steel of my empire, “from your tenacity and dedication to finding her. You’ve used your grief to help so many others.”

I look away, staring at the dust motes dancing in a shaft of morning light, trying to keep my emotions in check.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” she adds. “You need to do a lot more of that.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can’t keep carrying all of this alone. And I know you have friends who can help you. Big, powerful friends. Let them in. You never know which of them might have an untapped resource that could help shine a light on your sister’s whereabouts. And if not, you’re no worse off than you are now.”