Victoria left without a fight. In the cold, analytical theater of Charles Grey’s mind, that was the detail that would play on a loop, over and over, until it drove him into a state that was feral and unrecognizable. He had prepared for a scream. He had prepared for a dramatic goodbye, for slammed doors that shook the foundations of the estate, or for a tearful ultimatum.
But there had been nothing.
She had packed with a surgical, quiet precision while he was insulated in a high-stakes board meeting in the city. She took only a single suitcase—just the essentials, just enough to signify a departure rather than a disappearance. She had knelt by their son, pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead, and whispered a secret into his ear that Charles would never hear. Then, she walked out of the
