Whispers Of Concern
The office was quiet, save for the faint hum of Rowan’s desktop computer. He leaned back in his chair, the day’s work barely making a dent in his restless mind. Something was off. He didn’t know what, but it gnawed at him, persistent and unwelcome.
A soft knock on the door disrupted his thoughts. Before he could respond, Gigi sauntered in, dressed in a fitted red dress that clung to her figure. Her heels clicked against the polished floor, a sound Rowan typically found grating but now barely noticed.
“Rowan,” she said sweetly, closing the door behind her. “You look like you’ve been lost in thought all day.”
He glanced at her briefly before returning to the papers on his desk. “Is there something you need?”
Her lips curved into a playful smirk as she perched herself on the edge of his desk. “Always so businesslike.” She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “But yes, there is something I thought you should know.”
Rowan’s brow furrowed as he looked up at her. “What is it?”
“Your little wife,” Gigi began, emphasizing the words with mock sweetness, “seems to have left you.”
He blinked, his expression hardening. “What are you talking about?”
“She’s gone, Rowan,” Gigi said, enjoying the moment. “I passed by the house earlier. Her things are missing. The staff said she left a note, but they wouldn’t let me read it.”
Rowan’s jaw tightened. “Why were you at my house?”
“Oh, don’t be like that,” she said with a light laugh. “I was just checking in on you. And now I see I was right to.”
Rowan stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. He moved to the window, his back to Gigi, staring out at the city skyline.
“She wouldn’t just leave,” he said finally, his voice low but firm.
“Wouldn’t she?” Gigi countered, sliding off the desk and walking up behind him. She placed a manicured hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been distant, Rowan. Cold, even. It’s not exactly a secret that your marriage wasn’t... conventional.”
He shrugged off her hand, turning to face her. “You don’t know anything about my marriage.”
Her smile faltered for a moment before she regained her composure. “Maybe not. But I do know how she looked at you. Like she was always waiting for something that never came. Can you blame her for leaving?”
Rowan’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you care?”
“Because I care about you,” Gigi said softly, stepping closer. She reached out, her fingers brushing against his arm. “And I hate seeing you like this—distracted, brooding. It’s not like you.”
He didn’t pull away, but his expression remained unreadable.
“She’s gone, Rowan,” Gigi continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. “And you’re better off without her. Didn’t you say she was just a maid?” She leaned in, her lips grazing the shell of his ear. “So why do you care about her?”
Rowan stiffened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He pulled back, creating distance between them.
“That’s enough, Gigi,” he said sharply.
Her eyes widened in mock surprise. “Oh, have I struck a nerve?”
“This isn’t your business,” he snapped.
“But it is,” she insisted, her tone turning more serious. “You’re my business, Rowan. I’ve known you for years. I know when something’s bothering you.”
He turned away again, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t know anything.”
“Then tell me,” she urged, stepping closer again. “Why does it matter if she’s gone? She’s just another part of that ridiculous arrangement, wasn’t she? A pawn in a game neither of you wanted to play. So why let it get to you?”
Rowan didn’t answer immediately. He stared out the window, his reflection a distorted version of himself in the glass.
“I don’t know,” he admitted finally, his voice barely audible.
Gigi’s lips parted in surprise, but she quickly masked it with a sly smile. “Well, if you don’t know, then maybe it doesn’t matter.” She reached for his hand, her fingers intertwining with his. “Let her go, Rowan. You don’t need her. You’ve never needed anyone.”
He pulled his hand away, his expression hardening once more. “I think you should leave.”
Her smile faltered again, this time with a hint of irritation. “Rowan—”
“Leave, Gigi,” he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument.
She stared at him for a moment, a mixture of frustration and disbelief crossing her face. Then, with a huff, she turned on her heel and headed for the door.
“You’re making a mistake,” she said over her shoulder. “But I’m sure you’ll realize that soon enough.”
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Rowan alone once more. He sat back down at his desk, his hands resting on the edge.
The words echoed in his mind: She’s gone.
He reached for his phone, his fingers hovering over the screen. For a moment, he considered calling her, demanding to know where she was and why she had left. But something stopped him.
Instead, he placed the phone back on the desk and leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling.
Why do I care?
It was a question he didn’t have an answer to. And that, more than anything, unsettled him.
\*\*\*\*
Rowan sat in the dimly lit lounge of his penthouse, the soft hum of the television filling the otherwise quiet room. A scotch glass dangled loosely in his hand, the amber liquid reflecting the muted colors on the screen. He wasn’t paying much attention—just another business feature, another face boasting their accomplishments in some self-congratulatory interview.
His focus sharpened when the interviewer said her name.
“Dr. Remi Laurent, considered one of the most promising surgeons of our generation, has taken the medical world by storm.”
Rowan froze, his grip tightening on the glass. He turned his gaze fully to the screen.
There she was.
Remi.
She sat across from the interviewer, her posture poised, her smile radiant. Her hair framed her face perfectly, and she exuded an air of confidence he had never seen before.
The interviewer leaned in, intrigued. “Your work has not only saved countless lives but also inspired young women worldwide. What drives you?”
Remi’s laugh was soft, genuine. “I wouldn’t say I’m saving lives singlehandedly. Medicine is a team effort. But I’m grateful for the opportunities I’ve had, and the people who’ve supported me along the way.”
Rowan couldn’t look away.
“Opportunities?” the interviewer pressed. “From what we’ve heard, your journey wasn’t exactly smooth sailing.”
Remi’s smile faltered for just a second—so brief, Rowan wondered if he imagined it. “That’s true,” she admitted, her voice steady. “But challenges shape us, don’t they? Every setback taught me something, and every success is a reminder of how far I’ve come.”
The screen cut to a clip of her in a hospital, walking through bustling corridors with a calm authority. She was wearing a pristine white coat, her name embroidered in neat letters: Dr. Remi Laurent. Nurses and interns trailed behind her, hanging on her every word.
The segment returned to the interview. “And yet,” the interviewer said, “you still find time to advocate for women in STEM and contribute to multiple charities. How do you manage it all?”
Remi’s smile deepened. “It’s not about balance. It’s about doing what you love. When you’re passionate about something, it never feels like work.”
Rowan’s chest tightened.
She looked so...happy.
Effortlessly radiant in a way he didn’t remember. The woman on the screen bore little resemblance to the one he had dismissed, belittled, and ultimately driven away.
“Do you ever look back?” the interviewer asked. “Reflect on the life you left behind?”
Remi’s gaze flickered, her smile turning wistful. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “But I’ve learned that looking forward is far more rewarding.”
Rowan’s jaw clenched.
The segment ended, transitioning to a commercial. The room felt too quiet now, too empty. He stared at the s
creen as if willing her to reappear.
“Laurent,” he muttered to himself, the name rolling off his tongue like a foreign word.
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