"Good enough." I limped to the castle, pain searing with each step. Our love sprouted here but withered in lies and betrayal. I struck a match and tossed it inside. Flames erupted, consuming the "home" that had become a prison.
"Farewell," I whispered, boarding the helicopter. As it lifted off, my coat flapped in the dark, carrying me across the ocean.
Julian, racing back after hearing I was safe, drove toward the burning castle. Our paths—his on the ground, mine in the sky—would never cross again.
On the cross-sea bridge, a Maybach S680 tore through the night, its engine roaring. Julian Chase's lips were pressed tight, sweat trickling down his sharp nose.
Drip, drip.
Faster. He needed to go faster.
He had to see Clara, to know she was safe.
Ten hours earlier, at the seaside, Julian
