The sleek black Mercedes rolled up the long, sweeping drive of Rafael Vexley's estate, its headlights cutting pale ribbons through the thinning night. Dawn was breaking, staining the sky with strokes of soft pinks and golds, but Rafael barely noticed. To him, the world outside the tinted glass was a blur, nothing more than background noise to the storm clawing inside his chest.
It was just past seven. Most of the city was still yawning into the day, but Rafael had been awake since three—wired on fear, rage, and a grim determination that refused to loosen its grip. Every hour without Eliana had felt like a sharp knife pressed deeper into his ribs.
