In the dim shadows of the Green Garden waiting room, time felt like sand slipping ruthlessly through Julian's fingers. The luxury watch on his wrist ticked with a cruel precision, reminding him that in exactly one hundred and eighty minutes, he had to be back at Teterboro, flying through Atlantic clouds to resume his role as the perfect British aristocrat for the Scottish cameras.
Julian still held Scarlett, though her initial resistance had faded. Her body felt rigid, yet her heavy sobs had quieted into shallow, ragged breaths against his chest.
"Let go, Julian. You've already gotten what you wanted," Scarlett whispered, her voice raw and cold.
Julian slowly loosened his grip, but his hands remained anchored to her waist, as if terrified that releasing her by even an inch would cause her to vanish forever. He studied her face, the swollen eyes, the flushed nose, and lips still slightly bruised from his kiss. Guilt hit him harder than his physical exhaustion ever could.
