Capture Me

The cold seeps into my bones as I kneel by my mother’s grave. The damp earth smells like rain, and the wind cuts through my jacket, but I barely feel it. All I can think about is emptiness.

It’s been a month, but the pain hasn’t dulled. If anything, it has settled deeper into my bones, an ache that refuses to fade. My mother—my rock, my guiding light—is gone. Forever. It still doesn’t seem real. I keep expecting to hear her voice, to smell her perfume lingering in the air, to feel the warmth of her hand in mine. But all I have now are memories, fragile and fleeting like sand slipping through my fingers.

My father and I are lost without her. She was the glue that held us together, the laughter in our home, the warmth in every cold moment. And now, the silence is deafening.

She was a great mother, but she had her faults. She always put her job first, and then me. I spent so many nights waiting for her to come home, watching the clock, hoping she’d walk through the door before bedtime. Sometimes she did, sometimes she didn’t. But despite it all, she loved my dad with everything she had. He was always her priority in a way I sometimes wished I had been.

My fingers trace the engraved letters of her name. The stone is cold, and slick with the misting rain.

Beloved Wife and Mother. Forever in Our Hearts.

I adjust the lilies carefully, making sure they stand upright. She always said lilies meant renewal. But all I feel is loss.

A lump forms in my throat, and I squeeze my eyes shut. “Hey, Mom,” I whisper, my voice barely carrying over the quiet rustling of the trees. “I brought your favourite lilies.”

I close my eyes, and for a second, I’m six years old again, curled up in her lap as she hums an old song under her breath. Her hands—always cold, always steady—run through my hair, and I feel safe. But then the memory fades, and I’m back in the rain, standing in front of a grave.

I visit every weekend, but my father comes every two days, rain or shine. I know he’s barely holding on. Twenty years of marriage, two decades of love, and then—nothing. A void that no one else can fill. I wish I could help him more, but grief is a lonely road, and we’re both walking it separately, hoping to find our way through the darkness.

The first raindrop lands on my cheek, cold against my skin, snapping me out of my thoughts. I glance up. The sky, which had been grey all morning, is finally making good on its threat of rain.

“I love you, Mom,” I murmur, my voice thick with emotion. “No matter what.”

I rise to my feet, wiping my damp hands on my jeans, and take one last look before turning away. The city hums in the distance, oblivious to my grief. New York never slows down, never pauses for anyone, not even the brokenhearted.

Standing at the curb, I lift a hand. “Taxi!”

One screeches to a stop, sending a wave of dirty rainwater splashing over my legs. I groan, shaking out my now-soaked jeans. Great. Just what I needed.

Sliding into the back seat, I give the driver my address and lean against the window, watching the city blur past. The towering skyscrapers, the flashing billboards, the crowded streets—I’ve always loved this place, but for the first time, it feels like a city I no longer belong in.

Maybe leaving is for the best.

The thought knots my stomach, and I tighten my grip on my purse. My bags are packed, my apartment is almost empty. My entire life, neatly folded into suitcases, waiting for a new beginning. I’ve built everything here—my career, my friendships, my identity—but something is pulling me away. Maybe it’s the weight of loss, the need to escape the memories that lurk around every corner. Or maybe it’s fear—fear that if I stay, I’ll never move forward.

I sigh, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. My father says he’s proud of me, but he made me promise to call often. He even joked that if I didn’t, he’d hop on a plane and show up at my doorstep unannounced. I smile at the thought, the first genuine one I’ve had in a while.

The taxi pulls up to my building, and I hand the driver a tip before stepping out. The lobby is quiet, and the security guard gives me a small nod as I make my way to the elevator. My apartment, once filled with colour and life, is now stripped bare. Only my mattress and a few groceries remain. It doesn’t feel like home anymore—it feels like a place I’m already leaving behind.

I pour myself a glass of wine and curl up with a book, but my mind refuses to settle. Moving across the globe is terrifying, but staying might be worse. If I don’t go now, will I ever leave?

I close my book with a sigh and drain the last sip of wine. Tomorrow, everything changes.

Getting up, I run a hand over my suitcase. This is what I wanted, right? A fresh start?

But as I stare at the city lights flickering outside my window, I wonder—what if moving forward means leaving too much behind?

I had no idea my life was about to change forever. But as I stepped onto London soil, exhaustion was the only thing on my mind.

My back ached, my head pounded from the pressure change, and exhaustion clung to me like a second skin. But I still wasn’t at my destination.

This was supposed to be a fresh start. A new city, a new job, a new life. So why did I feel like I was walking straight into something I wasn’t ready for?

One of the perks of relocating for work was that my company had provided me with a brand-new, modern apartment. From the pictures I had received, the building was sleek and contemporary, standing tall with at least ten stories. Each floor housed only one apartment, and from what I could tell, mine was enormous—far larger than my modest New York apartment had been.

I collected my luggage and stepped outside, shivering slightly as the cool London air brushed against my skin. A cab arrived within minutes, and as soon as I was seated inside, I let out a tired sigh.

The ride to my new home felt longer than it was, my anticipation growing with every passing streetlight.

The driver absentmindedly turns up the radio to listen. A news broadcast crackles through the speakers.

"In other news, yet another corporate rival of Xavier Lexington has stepped down under mysterious circumstances. The former CEO of Sterling Enterprises, once a major competitor, announced his sudden resignation this morning. When asked for comment, Mr. Lexington’s office simply stated that ‘business is business.’"

When the cab finally pulled up in front of the building, I was momentarily stunned. The real thing was even more impressive than the pictures had let on. Tall, sleek, and covered in tinted glass, it exudes luxury.

"We’re here, that’ll be 18£," the cab driver said, smiling.

I returned the smile and paid before stepping out. He was kind enough to help me with my luggage, setting it beside me at the entrance.

"Thank you so much. Have a lovely day," I said before turning toward the grand entrance.

Stepping inside, I gasped. The lobby was breathtaking. Black marble floors gleamed under the overhead lights, and floor-to-ceiling windows flooded the space with natural light. A refined-looking doorman approached me, offering a warm smile.

"Good evening, Miss Carlone, I presume?"

"Yes, I’m Katherine Carlone. How are you?"

The doorman, whose badge read ‘D. Williams,’ inclined his head politely. "I’m very well, thank you. Everything you had shipped has already been brought to your apartment, and your assistant, Miss Brown, has ensured everything is in place. Allow me to take your bags and show you to your new home."

I nodded, recalling the emails I had received before my move. Arabella had been assigned as my assistant, and from our brief exchanges, she seemed efficient and friendly.

I followed him to the elevator, excitement bubbling beneath my exhaustion. When the doors opened to my apartment, I stepped in and gasped again.

The space was stunning. The open-concept living and dining area was modern yet inviting. The kitchen was an elegant dream, one I couldn’t wait to cook in. The master bedroom was spacious, featuring a luxurious en-suite bathroom and a closet large enough to fit an entire boutique. Even the second bedroom, meant for guests, was beautifully designed. But what took my breath away was the view—the River Thames stretched before me, glittering under the city lights.

Everything was already unpacked and arranged, making the space feel both modern and homey. The fridge and cupboards were also fully stocked. I made a mental note to thank Arabella when I met her.

The weekend passed in a blur of settling in, rearranging, and mentally preparing myself for my first day at work.

Monday arrived quicker than I expected. Dressed in a fitted black pencil skirt and a Bordeaux-red blouse with the top two buttons undone, I paired the outfit with black Louis Vuitton heels and a matching bag. My light brown hair cascaded in voluminous curls, and with a final swipe of red lipstick, I felt confident.

Leaving at 7:30 a.m. should have been enough time, but somehow, I found myself five minutes late.

"Shit," I muttered, breaking into a run the moment I spotted the building.

Inside, I rushed to the reception desk, slightly out of breath. "Hello, my name is Katherine Carlone. I’m supposed to start work today."

The receptionist, a stunning woman with dark red hair, glanced at her computer before smiling. "Yes, Miss Carlone. You are a bit late, but don’t worry, the director is very nice." She handed me a visitor’s pass. "Take the lift on the left to the seventh floor."

I thanked her and hurried inside the elevator just as someone else slipped in behind me, preventing the doors from closing.

"Thank you," I said, glancing up at the man beside me.

He was tall, well-dressed, and exuded effortless confidence. His sharp jawline and piercing blue eyes made my stomach flip.

"No problem. You’re new here?" he asked, his voice smooth.

"Yes, I start today."

He smirked. "Well, I have no doubt you’ll be great at it."

I raised an eyebrow. "How do you know? Maybe I suck at my job."

He chuckled. "Everyone who works here is exceptional. I don’t think you’ll be an exception."

I laughed softly. "Oh, well, that’s reassuring."

He extended a hand. "Alexander James, but most people call me Alex."

I shook his hand. "Katherine Carlone. Nice to meet you, Alex."

There was something about him—something sharp and unreadable. His words were smooth, but his eyes studied me, like he knew more than he was letting on.

The elevator dinged, and he stepped out on the sixth floor. Before leaving, he turned back with a smirk. "Hope to see you around, beautiful."

Heat rushed to my cheeks as the doors slid shut. Well, that was… interesting.

When I stepped out on the seventh floor, a woman with a bright smile was waiting for me.

"Hello, I’m Arabella Brown, your assistant. It’s great to finally meet you in person!" she said, extending her hand.

I shook her hand, smiling. "It’s great to finally meet you too. I really appreciate everything you did to set up my apartment."

"Of course! It’s my job to make sure your transition here is smooth. Let me show you your office."

I followed her down a sleek hallway and into a spacious office with floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the London skyline. It was perfect.

"Mr. Adams will be ready for you in an hour. In the meantime, feel free to settle in. And what do you say we grab lunch together later?"

Still admiring the view, I didn’t turn around as I responded. "I’d love that. I think we’ll be great friends."

"I hope so. Oh, and when you’re ready to meet Mr. Adams, his office is on the top floor. He’s the only one up there."

As she left, I took a deep breath, steadying myself.

Top floor.

I had no idea how much my life was about to change.