He carried a bouquet of white lilies, flowers I had always disliked, yet he never bothered to remember that detail about me.
He sat beside me and took my hand, brushing his fingers along my wrist as if checking my pulse, though I knew it was only a gesture meant to complete his performance.
Believing I was fully sedated, he leaned closer, and his voice dropped into a whisper that carried no trace of grief.
“The house in Boston, the accounts in Zurich, and the controlling shares in the company will all be mine very soon,” he murmured with quiet satisfaction.
There was no sadness in his tone, only anticipation that felt colder than anything I had ever experienced from him.
A moment later, he stood and walked back toward the door, and I heard his voice shift instantly into something warm and desperate as he stepped into the hallway.
“Please, do everything you can to save her, because she means everything to me,” he said loudly enough for others to hear.
The door closed behind him with a soft click, and the silence that followed felt heavier than before.
I took a slow breath, letting the pain anchor me while my thoughts sharpened into something clear and controlled.