DALTON
Two days.
That's all it had taken for reality to erode the fragile illusion of control I'd been clinging to.
The hospital lights had a way of bleaching everything hope, color, even memory. I'd been there again this morning, standing beside John's bed while his body fought a war his mind had already surrendered to. The doctors didn't sugarcoat it anymore. There were no more treatments, no experimental miracles, no maybes. Just the slow fade of a good man running out of time.
When I asked how long he had, the doctor hesitated just long enough to confirm what I already knew. Days. Maybe a week if the universe felt merciful.
Now, back in my apartment, I was drowning in silence.
The city pulsed beyond the glass walls neon arteries glowing across a skyline that never slept. But I couldn't focus on any of it. My routine my perfectly structured night had fallen apart. The reports on my desk blurred into white noise. I'd showered, changed into a T-shirt, poured a drink I didn't touch, and still couldn't breathe right.
The problem wasn't the dying man. Death was a calculation I'd learned to accept. It was the promise.
Take care of my girl.
A line that had rearranged the variables of my life.
How the hell was I supposed to help someone who couldn't stand the sight of me?
Someone who looked at me like I was everything wrong with the world corporate greed, arrogance, detachment when all I'd done was exist in her orbit long enough to piss her off.
I sat on the couch, elbows on my knees, staring at the untouched glass on the table. The ice had melted, leaving it half-watered, like my resolve.
For the first time in a long timea I reached for my phone not for business, not for press control or board meetings but because I needed to talk. And there was only one person in this world who could handle the storm I didn't know how to contain.
Darcy.
My thumb hovered for a second before I hit call. She answered on the second ring.
"Dalton?" Her voice was warm, sleepy, soft around the edges. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"
"Midnight," I said.
"In Tokyo, maybe," she muttered, yawning. "In London, it's four in the damn morning. Is this a corporate emergency or an emotional one?"
There it was. The teasing lilt. The only person who didn't walk on eggshells around me.
"Emotional," I admitted.
That woke her up. "Well, that's a first. Should I sit down for this?"
"You already are," I said. "Knowing you, probably with a blanket and a cup of overpriced tea."
She laughed. "You sound tense. What's going on?"
I exhaled. "Do you remember John Davis?"
There was a pause, then a soft, nostalgic hum. "Dad's driver? Of course. He was always so kind to us. Let me sneak extra candy in the car when Mom said no And he had a soft spot for you. Why?"
"He's in the hospital."
Her voice gentled immediately. "Oh no… what happened?"
"Cancer. Terminal. There's nothing they can do."
A beat of silence stretched between us. I could almost hear the shift in her breathing. "I'm so sorry. He didn't deserve that. He was… God, he was better to us than half the people in that house."
My jaw tightened. "Yes. He was...is"
"You've been to see him?"
"I have. Every day since I found out."
"And?"
"And he is not doing too well and since there was nothing my money could do to improve his health made him a promise instead."
Her curiosity sharpened instantly. "What kind of promise?"
I hesitated. The words tasted heavy. "To take care of his daughter."
A low whistle came through the line. "Dalton Gray, the man who doesn't do personal entanglements, just promised to take care of a human being?"
"Don't start," I warned.
"I'm not judging," she said lightly. "I'm just… shocked. You, of all people."
"John was different," I said quietly. "He treated me like a person before anyone else did. He taught me how to drive when I was sixteen. Never asked for anything in return. The least I can do is make sure his daughter doesn't end up destroyed after he's gone."
Darcy was silent for a moment. Then, softly: "So… tell me about her."
"Her name's Aria." I rubbed the back of my neck. "She's twenty-four. Works at a coffee..The Grind. Smart. Stubborn. Infuriating. And she fucking hates my guts."
Darcy laughed outright. "Wait hold on you made a promise to a dying man to take care of his daughter… who hates you?"
"Yes."
"Oh, Dalton." Her amusement was rich and merciless. "You're actually cursed. Universe-level irony."
"Don't."
"So, what's the master plan, oh great strategist? Are you going to just throw money at her until she agrees to be happy?"
"That's the problem," I admitted, the frustration seeping back into my voice. "She's immune to money. Or rather, she's allergic to it coming from me. I told her she needed to eat in the hospital because her blood sugar was dropping, and she looked at me like I'd suggested she set herself on fire."
"why does she hate you so much anyway? Specifically."
I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window. "Because I'm an asshole to her."
"Well, stop it!"
"It's our primary mode of communication," I said, defensively. "It's… established."
"Then you need to establish a new one! Maybe start by not being an asshole. Ask her about her dad. Not as a problem to be solved, but as a person he was. Listen to her. Right now, you're just the rich guy who bullied her at work and is now hovering over her father's deathbed. You have to become something else."
I scowled, even though she couldn't see it. "She's been through hell, Darcy. Her father's dying. She's broke, sick, and too damn proud to accept help. And I.." I stopped, swallowing the frustration. "I don't know how to reach her without making things worse."
There was a pause before she spoke again, gentler now. "You don't have to know, Dalton. You just have to try. That's what John wants"
Her words landed harder than I expected.
I leaned back, staring at the city lights again. "You should've seen her at the hospital. She was falling apart and still trying to hold everything together. She told me to leave. Twice."
Darcy hummed thoughtfully. "Sounds like someone I know."
I glanced up. "Who?"
"You," she said simply.
That shut me up.
She was right, damn her. Aria's anger wasn't that different from my own. A defense mechanism. A shield against helplessness.
"I don't even know where to start," I admitted quietly.
"You start with honesty," Darcy said. "You can't fix her life like one of your mergers. You have to show up for her. Be present. That's it."
"That's not efficient."
"It's human," she countered. "Try it sometime."
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "You sound like a therapist."
"I sound like your sister who's been waiting a hundred years for you to talk about something real..which is why I'm up in the middle of the night listening."
There was warmth in her voice now familiar, grounding. The kind that used to pull me back when everything else spun out of control.
I didn't realize how much I needed this until now.
"How's Mom?" I asked, deflecting.
Darcy snorted. "Still controlling, still pretending she's the victim. She tried to guilt-trip me into coming home for her charity gala next week."
"Are you going?"
"Hell no. Are you?"
I let out a dry laugh. "I'd rather negotiate with the SEC."
"Good. We can both disappoint her together."
A rare smile tugged at my mouth. For a few minutes, the weight in my chest eased as we talked about smaller things her work, my company, the state of the world. She told me about her new boyfriend, an artist who apparently "understood emotion better than spreadsheets." I made a sarcastic comment about him being unemployed; she told me I needed therapy. The usual.
But when the laughter faded, the silence returned, softer this time.
"You really cared about John, didn't you?" she asked quietly.
"I did."
"And his daughter?"
I hesitated. "I don't know yet what I feel about her or her situation."
"But you want to help her."
"Yes."
"Then you will," Darcy said, confidence in her tone. "You always find a way when it matters."
I wanted to believe her. But this wasn't a deal to close or a company to restructure. This was human emotion a language I'd never been fluent in.
"She won't make it easy," I said finally. "She looks at me like I'm the enemy."
Darcy chuckled. "Maybe you are. Maybe she's exactly what you need to remind you you're still human."
I rolled my eyes. "Don't start romanticizing this."
"I'm not," she said, teasing again. "But you know what they say hate's just confused attraction wearing armor."
"Darcy."
"What? I'm just saying, I've known you my whole life. You don't lose sleep over people who don't matter. So either this girl is the exception, or you're lying to yourself."
I exhaled slowly. "You're insufferable."
"And you're emotionally constipated. We all have flaws."
That actually made me laugh.
For a few minutes, we sat in companionable silence across the miles. Then her voice softened again.
"Dalton?"
"Yeah?"
"Whatever happens, don't forget you're not alone in this. You've got me. You've got people who still give a damn."
I didn't trust myself to answer right away. So I just said, "Thank you."
"Anytime, big brother. Now, get some sleep. You sound like hell."
"Love you, brat."
"Love you too. Go save your angry coffee girl."
The call ended after i promised her I wouldn't do anything too 'Dalton-ish'.
I sat there for a long time, the glow of the city flickering across the glass, the ghost of her laughter still in my ears. For the first time in days, my chest felt a little less heavy.
But when I finally lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling, the weight of my promise settled again.
John was dying.
Aria was drowning.
And I was the idiot who'd sworn to save her without knowing how.
Still, somewhere in that mess of logic and emotion, I could almost hear his voice steady, kind, unyielding.
Take care of my girl.
I closed my eyes and whispered to the empty room,
"I will. Even if she never lets me."
The city hummed on outside, uncaring. But for the first time in years, I felt something close to purpose. Something real.
And sleep finally came restless, but enough to keep the promise alive.