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Little firefly flying against the wind, buzz, buzz, buzz, I’ll never let it win…

The nursery rhyme Grandma used to sing hammers incessantly inside my mind like a broken record playing on repeat. Sitting next to the bed, I close my eyes.

The overhead lights are dimmed, a faint smell of lavender filling the air. I know if I opened my eyes, I’d see the silk comforter on the bed, the thousand thread count sheets, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering skyline of Manhattan. Luxury at its finest—the best money could buy.

But the stench. The acrid smell of antiseptic agents no fragrances could dispel. The incessant beeping from the monitors. The icy chill in the room.

There’s no comfort in the hospital.

“Little Firefly,” I rasp. Opening my eyes, I gently twine her hand in mine—her warmth the only thing telling me she’s still alive. “If you can hear me, please wake up. Everything is a fucking mess. Liam is on another bender. He still won’t talk to me, and the company… fuck! ”

Breathing in deeply, I attempt to calm myself. Emotional outbursts are useless. But right now, I wish I could let it all out, punch the wall, or break a window.

Keep calm and carry on, Charles. You aren’t like them…your parents.

It’s the one thing I’ve vowed never to become. Never to be a slave of my emotions—to let them sweep me away into madness, oblivious to the chaos I’d cause to others around me.

Even so, I wish I wasn’t alone in this, that I had someone by my side.

I run my hand through my hair, not caring I’m ruining it for the emergency board meeting later today to deal with the biggest scandal in the company’s history. The headlines swarm in my head: “Married CFO of Bank of Columbia accused of sexually assaulting a barely legal college intern at the Halton Financial Summit,” “Bank of Columbia—a breeding ground for predators?,” “The worst sex scandal in the banking industry—multiple victims have come forward.”

Dammit, Patterson. What the fuck were you thinking? A heavy sense of shame creeps inside me. I should’ve known about this. I’m the CEO and I see the bastard weekly. I should’ve seen something. Even if he was a trusted employee Grandma hired, a mentor I trained with when I worked up the ranks in the company. I shouldn’t have let down my guard and let him have free rein, assuming he was trustworthy.

But it isn’t the first time I’ve been so buried in my work I’ve missed something alarmingly obvious.

“Have you been paying attention, Charles?” Liam yells, his eyes full of hatred. “Or have you been so self-absorbed in the company—your precious fucking legacy—that you forgot everyone else?”

The bank, which Grandma’s family started and is world-renowned for its sterling reputation. Not anymore, and on your watch too.

Not to mention, this scandal following our announcement of a philanthropic initiative to raise awareness of sexual violence toward women is nothing short of ironic.

Now I have to fix this mess—if I haven’t fucked it up too much already.

“At least you have a chance to repair things,” Firefly’s imaginary voice whispers in my mind. She always knew what to say.

The lump swells in my throat and I squeeze her limp hand. I miss her so much.

“If only I can fix everything, Little Firefly,” I whisper. If only I can fix you.

“If you were here… you’d get a kick out of the official PR strategy to get us out of this mess,” I murmur.

“You got your wish. I’m going to immerse myself in the ballet world.” The company has recently sponsored the American Ballet Corporation, otherwise known as ABTC, and we’ll be donating proceeds of ticket sales to victims’ organizations. “If you were here, I’d be able to spend more time with you. Things are different now.”

I swallow. “I’d put you and Liam first in everything. I’d—”

I stop myself. Wishful thinking doesn’t do shit in the real world.

I trail my gaze over Firefly’s still figure on the bed, the place she has called home for the last six years. She looks gaunt. I miss her laughter. I miss her snarky remarks and teasing grins. She was the glue that held Liam and me together.

I miss our summers in the Hamptons.

Staring past her to the large window, I take in the darkening clouds hanging low—a heavy, oppressive weight.

I think back to another day with overcast skies and gloomy weather.

Everything was different then.

“Liam, you are so dead, you asshole! Next time, I’m putting a snake in your underwear drawer,” she shrieked, chasing after him, holding some shredded fabric in her hands, her strawberry blonde tresses billowing in the wind. The clouds were quickly sweeping in, warning us of an incoming storm, but the scene before me sparkled with life.

“Got to catch me first, pipsqueak!” His laughter traveled up to the second-story window of our sprawling Victorian summer home in the Hamptons.

“Oh my God, grow up already! I’m sixteen and you’re twenty, dude!” She shook her head. “Pipsqueak? I can take you down with my eyes closed.”

I chuckled at their crazy antics.

“Charles, you ready?” Grandma asked from behind me.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I curved my lips into a smile I’d practiced in front of the mirror a million times before—warm enough to disarm, but not so big as to look like a deranged idiot or a people-pleaser. Excitement and nervousness tremored through me. It was the moment I spent my entire life preparing for.

Her eyes glimmered with pride. “You’ll do fine. I had my first press conference at twenty-six too. I never thought I’d live to see the day when I could hand the reins of the bank to you. I was worried it’d have to go to your father…”

Grandma winced, but she didn’t need to finish her sentence. My parents were the last people who should take over the company. She cleared her throat. “You were always the right person for it—calm, collected, smart, my perfect darling boy.”

Reaching up, she patted my cheek and headed toward the door. Her shiny heels clicked loudly against the parquet floors. She paused and turned around. “Charles, remember what I told you before. Vaughns live with honor. Business with integrity. And…” she swallowed, “we stay away from The Association.”

I frowned. This wasn’t the first time she mentioned the organization to me. But she never told me more, other than I should stay away from it. I glanced out the window one last time, watching Liam and Firefly screeching and laughing in the sprawling green lawn below. I smiled. Maybe after my press conference, I could join them.

Ten years—it’s been ten fucking years. How did everything change so much?

“Mr. Vaughn. Sir. Sir?”

A warm voice shakes me out of my trip down memory lane and I see Julie, the brunette daytime nurse, striding in with a clipboard.

Clearing my throat, I stand up and strain a wide smile. “Julie, you’re looking energetic today.” I wink. “And how many times have I asked you to call me Charles? How are your boys? Just started kindergarten, right?”

She flushes. “You remembered. Time flies. I can’t believe the twins are already five.”

“I know. I met you when you were still pregnant with them.”

A flash of pain jars my insides, but my smile doesn’t waver. People don’t like to see negative emotions—they make them uncomfortable. Making people comfortable is second nature to me—it’s the first step of establishing trust, which is paramount in business.

I met Julie when Firefly was admitted. Back then, we were hoping she’d wake up. But now, the twins are in kindergarten, and Firefly’s still lying like a beautiful statue on the bed. Frozen in time.

And I’m still here, wishing I’d made a million different choices.

Something must’ve given my thoughts away, because Julie’s eyes soften in sympathy before she squeezes my suit-clad arm. “She’s very stable, no news. But sometimes, no news is good news, you know?”

After six years of no news, I can’t help but think that’s bad news.

Her forced optimism sounds like screeching nails against a chalkboard, but I maintain the mask on my face. If I smile enough, maybe I can chase away this guilt inside me.

“Well, you know me. Always hopeful. She’ll wake up one day, I know it.” Aren’t you tired of pretending everything is okay when it isn’t? I squeeze Julie’s hand back and she brightens, no doubt thinking her reassurance worked on me.

She cranks up the volume of the flat-screen TV playing the CBC noon newscast. She told me she liked to turn on the TV for Firefly in case she could hear us and wanted to know what was going on in the world.

“We were all talking about your award at the nurses’ station! Best CEO under the age of forty-five! I wish I could attend a fancy event like that.”

My attention flickers to the clip they’re playing, me striding to the podium for Forbes’s annual CEO awards held at the Kensington Hotel two months ago, the spotlight highlighting the deep blond of my hair, the practiced smile on my face, my jawline covered in just the right amount of scruff, the tailored navy suit fitting me like a glove. I looked every inch the charismatic, successful CEO the public knows me for.

A perfectly curated image.

It was fucking hot in that room, and I hated every second of it.

I glance at Julie, taking in her wistful gaze at the screen. “Thank you. It was a fun night. Next time, if I get invited to something similar, I’ll see if I can get some extra tickets for you. Nurses should be pampered, not CEOs,” I murmur.

“Oh my God, I was totally joking! You’re too kind.” Julie giggles and shakes her head. “We’re taking good care of her, don’t you worry.” She straightens, her voice sobering. “If anything changes, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Thank you.”

She traipses over to the door and gently closes it behind her.

My smile slips off my face as I take in Firefly again. Brushing her brittle hair away from her face, I let out a deep sigh.

“Why didn’t you go to her?” Liam screams. “I told you to. What the fuck is wrong with you? Is the company the most important thing to you?”

My tie chokes my breath and with a rough yank, I tug it loose. I straighten up the items on Firefly’s nightstand and replace the wilted daisies with the fresh ones I brought with me. Tidiness and order—the perfect balm for the rioting emotions in my gut.

Calm. Keep calm, Charles. I keep myself busy for God knows how long until I find the room spotless, everything in its place, a pristine castle waiting for her sleeping princess to wake up.

A noise draws my attention to the TV.

A striking ballerina is dancing on the screen—her motions flawless, controlled, her midnight black hair arranged like a halo on top of her head.

A dark angel.

My pulse quickens for some unknown reason and for a moment, I forget about the guilt eating away at me, and instead am drawn into the world the dancer on the screen has created.

Her eyes are haunted—the sorrow in them eviscerating, and my chest clenches. Those eyes have seen pain—I’d bet my fortune on it. She stares at the camera—I feel like she could gaze into my soul.

Who is she?

The clip cuts away to another news segment, but my attention remains riveted to the screen.

Firefly would’ve loved to see her dance. If she weren’t laying on the bed in a coma.

Fisting my hands tightly, I tear my gaze away from the screen. My eyes burn as I carefully reach into my breast pocket and pull out a small present, gift-wrapped in red, her favorite color.

I open the drawer of her nightstand, filled with the personal belongings they found on her that day—her wallet, her phone, her earrings, and her favorite bracelet. Shifting those items to the side, I set the gift next to five other pristine, unopened ones.

“Happy birthday, Little Firefly.”

With my heart ripped out of my chest, I walk to the door, only for it to suddenly swing open, and someone I don’t expect barges in.

“Ethan?” I stare at the tall dark-haired man in front of me, whose eyes look reddened, his gaze far away like he’s deep in thought. His tie is crooked, collar unbuttoned. He doesn’t look like the usual put together, quiet younger sibling of the illustrious Anderson family I’m fortunate enough to call my friends.

Ethan startles. “Charles,” he murmurs before clearing his throat and straightening up, his face completely devoid of the earlier emotions.

“You’re still visiting her.” An observation, not a question.

“Always.” A few seconds pause, then he adds, “I promised Liam.”

He doesn’t say more, but then again, he doesn’t need to. He’s lying and I don’t call him out on it. We all need lies to hide behind, so we don’t have to face the truth.

Clasping his forearm, I give it a squeeze before pasting on my fake smile and slipping out of the room.