The glass trembled slightly between Marcus Blackwell’s fingers, but it wasn’t the wine that troubled him. It was something deeper, older… something he thought he had buried along with the version of himself he had left behind.
The elegant murmur of the restaurant, the refined voices, the million-dollar deals… all vanished the instant his eyes fell upon a figure in the background, near the station where the waiters left the dirty dishes.
It was her.
Rosa.
Time seemed to fold back on itself. That woman who had once made him coffee in the early hours of the morning, who spoke to him with affection when the world turned its back on him, was now there… picking up scraps.
She didn’t just clean.
He stole food.
But not clumsily… but with a calculated, almost desperate urgency.
Marcus felt something inside him break.
“Mr. Blackwell, shall we sign the agreement?” the lawyer asked.
Marcus did not respond.
I couldn’t.
A waiter pushed Rosa with contempt.
—Move it, trash.
She lowered her head.
He said nothing.
That hurt more than any insult.
Five years ago, Rosa had vanished from his life without explanation. He assumed she’d moved on. He never asked. He never looked. Too busy building his empire… too busy marrying Fiona Mercer.
The sound of the glass falling and breaking against the table was dry, definitive.
“The meeting is over,” Marcus said, in a voice that brooked no argument.
And he left.
The night greeted him with a heavy air as he drove himself, ignoring protocols, ignoring everything. There was only one thing on his mind: to understand.
He followed Rosa.
Elegant streets transformed into darkness, then into abandonment, then into misery. The contrast was brutal. Finally, she arrived at a small house on the verge of collapse.
Marcus watched from the shadows.