Henry's POV
The car hummed, a deep, resonant purr that seemed to absorb all other sound, leaving only the faint, rhythmic thrum of the engine and the soft, almost imperceptible whisper of air through the vents. It was Lucian's world, encapsulated in leather and polished wood, designed to insulate its occupants from the chaos outside.
She sat in the passenger seat. So close the scent of her—jasmine from the estate gardens, the clean salt of her tears, and something deeper, uniquely her—filled the space between us. Close enough that I could reach out and trace the line of her jaw, feel the flutter of her pulse beneath my thumb. Far enough that the space felt like a chasm.
Camilla.
Her head was turned away, a pale silhouette against the morning light. The sun was rising, painting the sky in soft pinks and golds, casting long shadows across the empty streets. The city was just waking up—a few cars, a handful of pedestrians, the world starting its day while ours was falling apart.
