Too Late, Mr. William, She's Free

sound of her light, mocking one. It seeped through the walls, through the very fabric of the penthouse, a constant, insidious reminder o

She's a distraction, Katarina. Nothing more. A project. I

through the last vestiges of my foolish hope.

d marble floors. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and ambition. I stood by the edge of the ballroom, a g

, drawing him closer. "There's Eliana," she cooed, loud enough for those nearby to hear. "Frankli

r new collection. Wear it with pride." He forced a smile, a chilling performance. His eyes, though, were devoid of any emotion, any recognitio

over me. Franklin then turned to Katarina, his hand moving to her waist, pulling her into a kiss that was both

. Henderson. His gaze was filled with pity, a silent acknowledgment of my public degradation. He

when a thunderstorm had knocked out the power. I was scared, crying. Franklin had found me, wrapped me in a bl

herished comfort, was a tw

s, and burst onto the penthouse terrace. The sky outside was dark, mirroring the storm brewi

ge. The sender: Gerald Travis. My godfather. My father's old partner. The reclusive tech billionaire. My heart leaped, a flicker of something I hadn't

lling me from the depths of despair. My heart, which had been a block of ice, pulsed with a desperate, terrifying hope. The timing.

y to walk