A week later, in the West Tejas.
The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels on the iron tracks was a soothing sound to Charles Fitzwilliam. It allowed him a momentary distraction from the turmoil that had been brewing back at home. The compartment was comfortably appointed, with plush seats and polished wooden panels, a testament to his status. Yet, despite the luxuries surrounding him, Charles could find no peace.
He leaned back against the seat, staring blankly out of the window as the barren landscape of West Tejas rolled by. The argument with Amber weighed heavily on his mind. The memory of her tear-streaked face and the defiance in her eyes haunted him, even now. She had locked herself away, refusing to speak to him for the past week. He had hoped that with time, she would see reason, understand that everything he was doing was for her future.
But she had grown more stubborn with each passing day, leaving him no choice but to focus on business for now.