Caroline's knuckles whitened against the leather steering wheel as she tore through Manhattan's endless maze of streets. The night pulsed around her like a living beast—neon signs flickering, traffic lights bleeding red across wet asphalt, horns blaring in the distance. Her vision blurred at the edges, hot tears stinging her eyes until the city lights smeared like watercolor.
She blinked hard, forcing the world back into focus, though her throat still burned with the weight of everything she had refused to cry about in front of Lucien. She would never give him that. But here, inside her car, with no one to witness, her defenses cracked with every shallow breath.
Her lip trembled, and she bit it until the coppery tang of blood hit her tongue. Anything to anchor herself. Anything to silence the cruel echo of his voice in her head: I wouldn't have contacted you today if it wasn't urgent.
Urgent. Like she was an afterthought. A box to tick on his endless list of duties.
