Mason's POV
I watched her walk away.
The streetlight caught the edge of her hoodie, cheap fabric I didn't recognize, and then she turned the corner and was gone. My driver kept his eyes on the road, silent, but I could feel his judgment in the rigid line of his shoulders.
"Drive," I said.
"Where to, sir?"
I didn't know. The hotel suite held Wendy, who would demand breakfast. The penthouse held Chloe, who would smile and pour wine and ask about my day in that soft voice that had once felt like comfort.
"The hotel," I said.
The car pulled into traffic. I stared out the window and tried to remember the last time Luna had looked at me like I mattered. Not as a Sterling. Not as a husband. Just as me.
I couldn't remember.
My phone buzzed. Chloe. Wendy is asking for you.
I didn't answer
