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

where the auction was being held. Rachel must

should have been a simple conversation had spiraled into a

heading

a private jet. Even so, the

second Brian arrived, he stormed through the door without hesitation. But after searching every inch of the house—checking the bedroom, the study, even the tiny balcony—it hit him. Rachel

home,” Brian

investigation yielded nothing—Rachel hadn’t registered at any

“That

longer she remained missing, the deeper his unease grew. His

ordered. “I don’t care if you

promised to return for the auction. She wouldn’t have just disappeared without a

again and again, each attempt met with the same frustrating silence. He fired off

desperation, his fingers fumbled over the screen—and by accident, he tapped into

recent post popped

Fireworks?

eyes narrowed as he examined the background. The reflection

into his car, and tore through the streets

air was frigid, seeping through every crack

curled 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, but only his fingerprint could unlock the

from the unbearable cold. It didn’t work. Her body wouldn’t stop shuddering, her teeth

down her cheek, icy as it traced along her

her voice barely above

always been her beacon of hope in moments of despair, his presence becoming her instinctive comfort. But as soon as she spoke, the truth crashed

no matter how desperately she longed for him to suddenly appear, it was

she whispered one last

of nowhere, a noise

Footsteps.

rhythm, growing louder,

this hour, who