FUCKING BASTARD

The morning air was still dark and cold as I left the mansion, the world just on the verge of waking. I didn't bother with my driver—I needed to do this myself. The streets were quiet, the city still in the grip of night, but my mind was anything but calm. It was spinning with the relentless thoughts of the marriage proposal, of Eli, of how much he must be struggling with all of this.

As I drove towards Eli's apartment, the rising sun was a distant glimmer on the horizon, not yet strong enough to chase away the shadows of the night. I hadn't slept much—maybe an hour, at best. My thoughts had been consumed with Gregory Marks and the damned marriage proposal. There was no way I was going to let it happen. Eli deserved better than to be trapped in a loveless marriage orchestrated by his father's political ambitions.