When someone left without saying goodbye, they left you with unsettling emotion in the pit of your stomach, causing you to wake up in the middle of the night wondering why they had chosen to leave.

When someone left without saying goodbye, they made you question yourself of what you had done that sent them away.

When someone left you without a word, your heart is never the same.

* * *

It was around two in the morning and everyone in the neighborhood was already asleep. Everyone but Kelsey Ferreira. Her eyes were wide awake, staring at the ceiling as her forefinger was tapping against the edge of her bed rhythmically, in time with the rain outside beating against the window.

“It will be all right,” she told herself repeatedly while trying to control her labored breathing. Maybe if she had said it enough times, it would be true.

Kelsey shut her eyes in agony. She hated the rain, she always had. She hated how her heart pounded loudly against her ribcage with each falling drop hitting the roof. But most of all, she hated the fear creeping in deep inside of her. The fear of knowing that the one she had thought would never walk away, someone she thought would never leave her, had actually left her. 

Another flash illuminated the entire room, squeezing out a scream from her lungs and this time, the thunder had arrived even closer to the lightning, hinting that the storm was pulling closer. 

It was too loud, too violent. It was too much. 

Kelsey curled up into a ball on her bed. Her arms wrapped around her bent knees so tightly as if she was about to shatter. Her breath grew harsher. Panicked, labored, with the slightest touch of a whimper. 

The thunder shook the entire room, and her body flinched with such torment that she was convinced she would not make it out alive. Lightning tore through the night, flashing the room with a sharp burst of light. 

It had been stormy too on the day her mother had left.

* * *

Ten miles away to the south, about thirty minutes drive, a guy with dark brown eyes and darker colored hair was sitting on his bed. His eyes were glued to the screen of the phone in his hand. Every now and then a bolt of lightning lit up the room in a flash of brilliance before the entire room exploded with a dull boom of thunder. 

Flynn Ascott loved thunderstorms. Hard to tell why. Maybe it was proof that there were things that humans could not control. Or maybe because often it mimicked his mood and the boiling anger inside him. He closed his eyes briefly and let out a deep, sorrowful sigh. 

As he reopened his eyes, he leaned back on the leathered headboard of his bed, regarding his phone with a thought as he made circles on its screen with his finger. It had been a long day, he agreed to the bad weather. He was emotionally and physically exhausted. After another five minutes of nothingness and just him glancing at his phone, he tossed his phone carelessly on the mattress beside him and got up.

He positioned himself by the window, both hands digging into his pockets as he looked out at Elliott Bay beyond. Misty clouds clung to the darkening Seattle skyline. The 2:05 ferry slid through the water, loaded with cars and passengers, and headed for Bainbridge Island. Even from the seventeenth floor, he could still hear the traffic and horns being pressed by angry, impatient drivers, courtesy of living in a metropolitan area. Only a few people could afford this kind of lifestyle, and he was one of them, just like any other Ascott in the country.

Yes. He was Flynn Ascott. The heir of the Ascott LLC here in the United States. The only heir, mind you since most of the distant living Ascott's were living in the U. K. and they had their own empire. 

But he had not always been Flynn Ascott. He had been born Tyson Vincent and if what that woman on the phone had said was true, he had a twin brother.

Bah, how ridiculous.

Flynn did not want to believe it to be true, he loved being his own authentic self, yet a picture speaks a thousand words, and that woman had presented more than one picture which showed a guy who looked just like him wearing clothes that he would never wear. He truly had a twin brother — a living being who looked exactly like him, and to be frank, he found it quite uncanny.

All of his life he had felt special. Right now, he was not sure anymore and that thought alone scared him. As he moved to the bar, he tried his best to forget about it and grabbed a bottle of beer from the mini-fridge. He uncapped the bottle, raised it to his lips, and tipped his head back. Swallowing the familiar taste of Guinness, he let the liquid remain in his mouth a while before swallowing it.

He had been adopted, and he had a twin brother, so what? If that woman thought. That by telling him about his brother would make him forgive her for putting him up for adoption, well, she thought wrong. It had only made him hate her even more. After all, what kind of mother decided which kid to give away and which to raise? How could she as a mother decide which one was worth keeping and which one was to give away? 

Flynn downed another swig of his beer and straightened his shoulders, pushing such unpleasant rumination from his mind. No, he decided, he did not need this complication right now. Not when he was at the top of his life and could do whatever he pleased. The only mother he knew was Nancy Ascott and she had died eight years ago. He had grieved about her and he had moved on. He certainly did not need another mother, let alone a twin brother. 

In five long strides, Flynn snatched the phone off the bed and unlocked it. He then proceeded to erase the messages she had sent him along with the photos of his brother, Tyler Vincent, and blocked her number. If somehow she managed to contact him again, he would change his number. He would do whatever it took to keep her away. It was a payback for her giving him away when he was merely a baby. 

His life had been good without them and it would stay that way if only he could pretend that they did not exist. If he could pretend that he had been born as Flynn Ascott. 

* * *