Croft’s POV
I have always believed I was a man forged from steel: unyielding, composed, and untouchable. Billionaires don’t get the luxury of weakness, and Alistair Croft bleeds only behind closed doors, if at all. But sitting in the harshly lit hallway of the hospital, with Jennifer trembling in my arms, the news of Peculiar’s death shattered me. And I realized steel can shatter.
Jennifer’s sobs quieted to ragged breaths, her cheek pressed to my chest. I kept one arm wrapped around her waist and the other gently cupping the back of her head, as if by holding her tight enough, I could keep the world from taking anything else from her.
Her pain was a physical thing: raw, violent, ripping through the air. She blamed her existence, the world's cruelty, and cursed the day she was born.
And
