I wandered through the Ford mansion, my heels clicking softly against the polished marble floors, the echoes of the Hiroshima-grade bomb that had just exploded at the dining table still ringing in my ears. The room had emptied out, leaving only Alan Ford sitting there, his face a mask of regret, staring into his wine glass like it held answers.
Max had gone to placate his mother, Laura, whose venomous words still hung in the air. Harlan was likely with Kylie, soothing her after her fiery outburst. And me? I was alone, my chest tight with the weight of everything I had witnessed and everything I’d done. I needed air, space, anything to clear my head. So I rose quietly and slipped away, my heels clicking against the marble floor, carrying me down a long hallway lined with ornate portraits
