The dial tone hummed against my ear, a cold, mechanical sound that felt like it was mocking me. I didn't move. I stayed anchored to the floor of the darkened suite, my eyes fixed on the street fourteen stories below.
Across the road, the sleek black Mercedes finally pulled away from the curb, its headlights cutting through the San Francisco fog like twin blades.
"I was wrong, Chloe. And I'm sorry."
His voice still echoed in the quiet room, a raw, gravelly sound that didn't belong to the King of the Reed Mafia. Asher Reed didn't apologize. He didn't admit fault. He was a man built of stone and iron, yet for a few seconds over the phone, he had sounded... human.
"It's too late for apologies, Asher," I whispered, my breath fogging the glass.
