As the car slowed, Tony looked up from his tablet. He’d been so lost in the document that he hadn’t realized they were almost home. Sighing, he watched as his house came into view. A man’s home was supposed to be his castle. Why, then, did he dread coming home each night? It was the same as it had always been, and this evening would be the same as the one before. When Eric would open his car door, his staff would be ready to greet him. Dinner would be warm and ready whenever he desired. If he wanted a drink, it too would be prepared. Anthony Rawlings had all the comforts money could buy, and he couldn’t remember being more miserable.

At first the doctors attributed his lethargy to the lingering effects of the poison. The cardiologists ran every test and scan possible. They concluded that Tony’s heart muscle was as healthy as that of a man in his thirties and reassured him that physically everything was repaired; nevertheless, Tony felt an unfillable void deep within his chest. It was like nothing he’d ever known. As time passed and his divorce finalized, Tony decided that dating would help to fill that void. Shelly agreed, saying it was a sign of strength to the world. It showed that Anthony Rawlings was invincible and able to overcome any obstacle. She also said it would be good for Rawlings Industries: the CEO was back to his old self. It helped that Catherine also encouraged dating. Her reason was less business-oriented. One evening she came to his office and told him without hesitation that he needed to stop spending so much time alone. Tony agreed. He was ready for some companionship.

When the invitations to benefits, galas, and other social gatherings began to trickle in, Anthony Rawlings returned to the dating scene. Each outing was similar to his dates before her. Most of the women who accompanied him were high-profile and high-maintenance. They looked perfect and knew the importance of appearance. It didn’t take long for Tony to realize that these dates felt more like business meetings. He listened to the women’s words, responded appropriately, and smiled for cameras—but it was all superficial and meaningless.

Tony never took any of these women to his friend’s home for a barbeque. He didn’t sit with them for hours and talk nor go on long walks hand-in-hand. He didn’t know or care about their lives or a book they’d read. They fulfilled one need—appearance. These women were nothing more than an ornament to dangle from his arm. Everything had come full circle: he was living the life he created before her. It was a life that used to satisfy—it no longer did. The outings left him feeling more hollow than his empty house.

How could something—like a house, a date, or a life—that was virtually the same as it had been when it had been fulfilling, now seem empty?

He was Anthony Rawlings. He ran a billion-dollar industry. The ornaments—women—who accompanied him offered more than just public companionship with no desire of commitment. He had every man’s dream.

Lately, it had become worse, and Tony knew why. Had Tony realized the time of year and mentally prepared, he wouldn’t have been so affected. However, with all of his work and recent travels to Europe, he hadn’t given the pseudo-holiday any thought. Then without warning, at a large benefit in Chicago, with a beautiful blonde on his arm, he heard her say, “Anthony, you should have worn a green tie.”

He acknowledged her words with his infamous grin, yet he had no idea why she’d commented on his attire. Apparently, she noticed his confusion, because she giggled and said, “You know—because it’s Saint Patrick’s Day.”

After weeks and months of consciously not thinking about his ex-wife, an invisible dam broke. In the presence of hundreds of donors, at a $10,000-a-plate dinner, memories flooded his mind. He carried on for the rest of the evening, shook hands, and made small talk, but his thoughts were three years in the past, at an Italian restaurant in Atlanta, Georgia.

Over the course of the next week, Tony tried diligently to push the memories away. When he’d wake in the middle of the night with his healthy heart beating erratically and his body covered in perspiration, Tony would stare toward the portrait veiled in darkness and remind himself that it was Ms. Nichols who’d failed her test. She was the one who chose to drive away and leave him. Before they were married, he’d promised her consequences if she ever left him, and being a man of his word, he delivered. Well, actually, the state of Iowa delivered; nevertheless, her absence and consequences were the result of her actions, not his.

When Tony stepped through the door to his home, Cindy stood ready. “Mr. Rawlings, may I take your coat?”

As he handed it to her, she said, “Dinner can be ready as soon as you like. Sir, are you going to eat in your office again, or would you like to eat in the dining room this evening?”

Tony squared his shoulders. “The dining room. I’ll be there in half an hour. First, I have business in my office.”

Cindy acknowledged him and walked away as he headed for his office. Despite the number of staff that Tony employed, silence loomed omnipresent, allowing the sound of his footsteps to echo through the vacant corridor. Once inside his office, Tony poured a finger—or two—of bourbon into the crystal tumbler. The decanter was waiting for him on the highboy, as much of a welcome to his home as his staff—safe and dependable. Tony despised eating alone, especially in the dining room. That was why he often chose to take his meals in his office or in his suite, but he was tired of hiding from the memories. The only way to stop them was to meet them head on. Swallowing the liquid courage, he relished the burn as the amber liquid soothed his nerves. He’d eat the damn dinner in the damn dining room and then spend the rest of the night going through a stack of new proposals. If nothing else, his renewed dedication to work had been beneficial to Rawlings Industries. At least something in his life was thriving.