Requiem of a Broken Heart

Chapter 50

Chapter 50:

Ten minutes later, Rachel powered her phone back on, clinging to a fragile thread of hope. She remembered an old tech tip—that sometimes letting a dead phone rest before restarting could breathe new life into it. When the familiar glow of the startup screen illuminated her face, relief flooded through her with such intensity that tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. Her trembling fingers frantically dialed Brian’s number.

“I’m here. Come down!” His voice crackled through the speaker, strong and clear.

Rachel’s heart stopped. “Where are you?”

“In Amberfield!”

“But—” The words died in her throat as the screen plunged into darkness, the phone surrendering its last breath of life.

She jabbed desperately at the power button minutes later, but the device remained stubbornly silent.

Guided by the dim ambient light, she navigated her way to Brian’s desk, her movements cautious and measured. A spark of optimism flickered in her mind—surely he would keep a charger somewhere.

After rifling through drawer after drawer, her persistence finally paid off. The sight of the charging cable nearly brought her to tears of relief.

Her joy evaporated the instant she connected the charger. The cruel reality crashed over her—the building’s power automatically shut down after 10 p.m., a safety protocol implemented after a dangerous electrical fire had once threatened the premises. The entire structure now stood as a powerless fortress at night.

The weight of this revelation crushed her spirit.

What twisted the knife deeper was her sudden understanding of the brief call. The auction was happening in Amberfield, a detail Brian had never specified. The pieces fell into place with devastating clarity—she and Brian were in different cities now.

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Enveloped by the suffocating darkness, Rachel felt hope slipping away like water through cupped hands. Her deep-seated fear of the dark clawed at her consciousness, but tonight, there was no escape. She would have to endure the long, dark hours alone. No rescue would come.

Meanwhile, Brian stared at his phone in frustration as his repeated calls were met with the hollow response of Rachel’s voicemail.

“Ronald, go find out what’s going on,” he commanded, tension evident in his voice.

Five minutes later, Ronald returned, looking distinctly unsettled. “Sir, there’s been a misunderstanding. Ms. Marsh went back today.”

thought he had misheard. “She

explicitly mentioned where the auction was being held. Rachel must have assumed it was at their hometown—and rushed

should have been a simple conversation had spiraled into a

the car around. We’re heading back,”

a private jet. Even so, the journey home would take over

hesitation. But after searching every inch of the

grip tightened around his phone as he immediately dialed Ronald. “She’s not home,” Brian said, his voice clipped with urgency. “Check if she’s

subsequent investigation yielded nothing—Rachel hadn’t registered at any

brows furrowed. “That

the deeper his unease

care if you have to comb through

wouldn’t have just disappeared without a reason. There was only

Brian called again and again, each attempt met with the same frustrating silence. He fired off text after text, but none

fumbled over the screen—and by accident, he tapped into her Facebook

post popped

Fireworks?

The reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows—he knew that view.

tore through the streets toward

every crack and crevice, and Rachel was trembling

up on the office sofa, her body stiff, her fingers and toes numb from the relentless cold. She knew Brian’s office had a private resting area, a space that offered warmth and comfort,

softly, a desperate attempt to distract herself from the unbearable cold. It didn’t work. Her body wouldn’t stop shuddering, her teeth clattering uncontrollably. Wrapped in the suffocating

cheek, icy as it traced along her

murmured, her voice barely above a

Brian had always been her beacon of hope in

for it, no matter how desperately she longed for him to

last time, curling

a noise shattered

Footsteps.

rhythm, growing

At this hour, who could