Locked Away
The morning sun streamed through the window, spilling golden light across the room and gently rousing Zara from her restless sleep on the sofa. Disoriented, she blinked against the brightness, her mind slowly clearing as she registered the familiar warmth beside her. Jax had fallen asleep there too, his presence a comforting weight, but now, he was gone. The emptiness settled around her like a heavy fog.
As memories rushed back—her grandmother’s frail form, the quiet beeping of machines and the funeral—an ache bloomed in her chest, squeezing tightly. Zara pressed her hands to her eyes, trying to push away the tears that threatened to spill, but the pain was relentless.
A soft knock at the door broke through her thoughts, and she sat up, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Come in,” she called, her voice coming out hoarse.
The maid stepped inside, a gentle smile on her face that quickly faded as she took in Zara’s disheveled appearance. “Good morning, Miss Zara. I was just coming to tidy up. Is there anything you need?”
Zara shook her head, forcing a weak smile. “No, thank you. Just… do you know where Jax is?”
The maid paused, her hands resting on the edge of the dresser. “He left early this morning, saying he had an important meeting.”
Zara felt a twinge of disappointment but pushed it aside. He had his life to manage, and she needed to focus on her own grief. “Okay. Thank you.”
Once the maid had left, Zara rose and made her way to her room. Each step felt heavy, as if the weight of her sorrow dragged her down. She entered her walk-in closet, staring at the rows of luxurious clothing. Today, she needed something to ground her, something that whispered of strength amid the chaos. Zara settled on a sleek black dress that flowed to her knees, tailored to perfection and hugging her curves just right, with delicate lace detailing that added an elegant touch.
As she slipped into the dress, her fingers brushed against the soft fabric, evoking memories of her grandmother’s touch. The black felt like both a tribute and a shield. Standing before the mirror, she took a deep breath, her reflection revealing red eyes and a face heavy with grief.
Determined, she stepped out of her room and made her way to her grandmother’s room. Each step felt like a pilgrimage, a way to reconnect with the woman who had shaped her life. The door creaked open, revealing the familiar space, now still and silent. Sunlight poured in, illuminating the delicate floral wallpaper and the empty bed that had once been a sanctuary.
Sinking into the chair by the window, Zara closed her eyes and let the memories flood in—the stories, the laughter, the love. She could almost hear her grandmother’s voice guiding her through life’s complexities, and the realization that she could no longer reach out for that wisdom felt like a punch to the gut.
Tears slipped silently down her cheeks. “Grandma… You shouldn’t have left me alone,” Zara whispered.
“Grandma…” Zara murmured, rising unsteadily to approach the mantel where a framed photograph of her grandmother stood, smiling as if frozen in time.
“Please, you have to tell me how I’m supposed to go on. You were my anchor, my guiding light. Without you, I feel like a lost child, wandering in the dark.” Her voice cracked, heavy with unshed tears, as she spoke to the photograph, hoping for some flicker of comfort from the memory.
Taking a deep breath, she grabbed a glass of wine from the nearby table and gulped down two large sips, the warmth of the alcohol failing to reach the chill settling in her bones. Just then, her phone buzzed insistently, cutting through the fog of her grief.
“Wait, my phone’s ringing,” she said absently, glancing back at the photo. Pulling the device from her pocket, she saw Ella’s name flashing on the screen. A wave of resentment washed over her, and she let it ring, letting it slide to voicemail.
“I don’t want to talk to anyone,” Zara said, her voice trembling as she took another sip of wine, the liquid a fleeting distraction from the ache in her heart.
Her red-rimmed eyes remained locked on the photograph, a well of memories swirling within her. “In fact, I don’t want to see or speak to anyone… I just want you to come back to me,” she sobbed, resting her head against the mantel, feeling the cool wood press against her forehead, grounding her in the moment.
At that moment, the door creaked open, and Greg stepped in, his expression serious. “Zara, I need to talk to you.”
She barely lifted her gaze, her voice a whisper. “I don’t want to talk to anyone.”
“Zara, it’s urgent,” Greg insisted, his tone firm as he took in the sight of her, wine glass trembling in her hand.
Finally, she sighed, her attention shifting to him. “What is it?”
“Your personal and company accounts have been frozen,” he said, a note of concern threading through his words. “I can’t withdraw any money.”
Zara’s heart raced, disbelief clawing at her insides. “What do you mean? Who would freeze my accounts?”
Greg’s calm demeanor remained, but the weight of the situation settled heavily in the room. “The bank manager informed me that the accounts were frozen at the instruction of the Parker Group’s lawyers.”
A wave of panic surged through her. The walls felt like they were closing in, and suddenly, the loss of her grandmother was compounded by the weight of this new reality.