James sat alone in the backseat of his car, parked just outside the estate gates. The morning sun had long risen, casting golden rays across the city skyline — but to him, the world felt grey. Dim. Cold.
His fingers tapped nervously against the car door, his other hand clenched tightly into a fist on his lap. His lips were dry, his usually well-styled hair now disheveled, and his shirt was wrinkled from a sleepless night spent on his knees outside Rita's gate.
She was gone. Out of the country. No warning. No note. No chance to speak his twisted version of truth or manipulate the cracks in her heart.
There was no one left to threaten, no leverage left to use.
No family pressuring her.
No scandal hovering over her.
No baby he could exploit.
And worst of all—no Rita.
