For the first time in years, she walked out without looking back.
Inside the car, silence settled around them as the estate faded into the distance. Abigail leaned back against the seat and felt a strange mix of relief and heaviness.
Patrick sat quietly across from her, watching the city pass by through the window. He had always been a man of few words, yet his actions carried undeniable weight.
“Are you alright,” he asked gently.
“I think so,” she replied, though her voice felt unfamiliar.
After a moment, she asked, “Why this company, why now.”
Patrick looked at her calmly. “Because it was time,” he said. “Sometimes you have to take control instead of waiting for fairness.”
She nodded slowly, understanding but still overwhelmed.
When they arrived at the penthouse overlooking Manhattan, Abigail stepped inside and felt the unfamiliar luxury surround her. The space was beautiful but empty, as if it held no history yet.
“Do you like it,” Patrick asked.
“I do not know,” she admitted. “It does not feel real.”
“It will,” he said quietly.
Her phone buzzed suddenly, and the name on the screen made her pause.
Caleb.
“Meet me,” the message read. “Please.”
“Do not answer,” Patrick said calmly.
She hesitated, then typed, “It is over, do not contact me again,” and sent it.
When the phone rang moments later, she declined the call without hesitation.
That evening, standing by the window, she finally felt a sense of control returning.
