Roman stood abruptly, the room suddenly too small, the air too thick against his lungs. He did not ask a question or say another word. He simply turned and walked out, his jaw tight and his shoulders rigid.
Estelle did not call him back. She only watched with empty eyes, whatever strength she had left draining away as he walked out.
The door shut with a final, resounding click.
As he stepped outside, he noticed the driver still standing in the hallway. Roman moved swiftly, a mix of anger and something else propelling him forward. Before the driver could speak, he grabbed the driver's arm, pulling him to the side.
"What happened? Exactly," he asked, his pulse hammering.
The driver's jaw tightened. "Her mother, Sir. She…" He shook his head. "I have driven for wealthy families for over fifteen years. I have seen cold. But that woman—" He stopped himself.
"Say it," Roman demanded, clenching his fists.
