The night had teeth.
Charlton stepped into the rain, the storm drenching him the moment the Ministry doors shut behind him.
He didn't move at first. Just stood there, his hand still throbbing from the impact, his pulse wild beneath his gloves. The echo of the blow reverberated through him — not satisfaction, not release, just a dull, spreading ache.
His carriage waited at the curb, the driver's silhouette barely visible through the downpour.
Charlton didn't climb in.
He pressed both hands to the railing instead, bowing his head against the rain.
The memory of Christopher's voice wouldn't fade — I own her.
He shut his eyes hard, jaw tightening. "Bastard," he muttered under his breath.
The word wasn't enough.
Nothing was.
He'd gone there to intimidate, to threaten, to show Christopher that his reach had limits.
