The rain was still pounding relentlessly against the windows of Sean's penthouse.
The large room was dark. Only the city lights glimmered faintly on the black marble floor.
Sean stood alone by the window, clutching his phone tightly. His jaw was tense. His eyes were red from lack of sleep.
But the worst part…
His mind was starting to fill with paranoia.
Moana really is a jerk.
But that woman rarely lies when her goal is to break someone's spirit.
And now one thought keeps creeping into Sean's head like poison.
> "What if Clara really is keeping all her secrets?"
Sean gave a hollow little laugh to himself.
How funny.
Back then, he hadn't even considered Clara important enough to suspect.
Now?
That woman had become the one person most capable of destroying him.
The man grabbed the whiskey and took a swig straight from the bottle.
Crash.
He slammed the bottle down on the table too hard.
Sean's breathing grew rough.
He hated this feeling.
Fear.
Lack of control.
