The morning sun was too bright, a stark, clinical glare that seemed to mock the turbulence churning in Grayson’s chest. He drove the distance to Veronica’s house in a state of hyper-focused silence, his hands steady on the wheel even as his mind replayed the cold dismissals of the previous day. He killed the engine, staring at the front door for a long beat, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt—a nervous habit he hadn't succumbed to in years. He wasn't the "boss" here. He was just a man who had made a catastrophic mess of the only thing that mattered.
He stepped out of the Mercedes and walked to the door, his shadow long and imposing against the wood. He knocked, the sound echoing with a finality that made his pulse thrum against his throat.
The door creaked open, and Veronica stood there. S
