There was a pregnant pause on the other end, a silence that stretched, thick with unspoken judgment. Claire braced herself for a sharp refusal, a lecture on independence or convenience. But then, without a single word, without saying yes or no, the line went dead. Alexander had simply hung up.
Claire slowly lowered her phone, staring at the blank screen. The abruptness of it left her reeling, a familiar knot of despair tightening in her stomach. Was that a refusal? A silent command to find her own way? Or a confirmation that he would, indeed, come?
"Is it...?" Sasha began, her voice tentative, her eyes wide with a mix of confusion and dawning understanding. She had heard Alexander's cold tone, seen the curt end to the call.
Claire looked up at Sasha, a faint, almost defiant smile playing on her lips. She took a deep breath, pushing down the uncertainty. "Yes," she nodded, her voice gaining a surprising conviction. "He will come. You don't have to drop me." It was an act of faith, a leap into the unknown, but also a fierce assertion of her position. She was Alexander Sterling's wife, and even if he was a man of few words, a man who gave no comfort, he had a responsibility. And she would hold him to it.
"Are you sure?" Sasha asked, her brow furrowed with lingering doubt.
Claire nodded again, more firmly this time. "Yes."
"Okay," Sasha conceded, though her posture remained tense. "We'll wait until he comes."
"No need," Claire countered, her voice gentle but insistent. She turned Sasha's body, placing her hands on her friend's shoulders and giving a slight, persuasive push towards Sasha's parked car. "Go. He will be here in a minute. You have class early in the morning also."
Sasha turned, a lingering worry in her eyes. "Are you in trouble or something, Claire?"
Claire shook her head, forcing her smile to remain bright. "No. I'm fine, really. He'll be here any minute. Go. I'll text you when I'm home safe."
Sasha nodded, though the doubt remained etched on her face. She took a step, then turned back, her gaze lingering on Claire. Claire gestured for her to go, her smile unwavering, a silent reassurance. Finally, Sasha sighed, got into her car, and drove away, glancing back at Claire in her rearview mirror until her friend was a mere silhouette under the distant streetlights.
As Sasha's car disappeared around the corner, Claire's smile dissolved instantly, leaving her face bare and vulnerable. The cold air suddenly felt sharper, the streetlights harsher. A profound uneasiness settled over her, chilling her to the bone. She hugged herself, her gaze fixed on the empty street. Minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity. Her legs, still weakened from her injury, began to ache, then throb, protesting the prolonged standing. After what felt like an unbearable amount of time, she succumbed to the discomfort, sinking onto a nearby decorative planter, its cold stone a stark contrast to the luxurious restaurant she had just left. She scanned the street again and again, but saw no signs of Alexander, no sleek black limousine pulling up to the curb. The silence stretched, broken only by the distant city hum, amplifying her growing anxiety and the humiliating realization that she might have been abandoned.
Meanwhile, across the street, a dark car idled discreetly, its engine barely a whisper. Inside, Zane Harrington watched Claire. He had seen Sasha drive away, seen Claire's forced smile disappear, seen her slump onto the planter, her posture radiating exhaustion and solitude. He had been there, silently observing, for almost an hour, unable to bring himself to leave. He knew he should go, that his presence might only complicate things further. But he couldn't. Not when she looked so small, so utterly alone, waiting in the cold. His hand instinctively reached for the door handle, a desperate urge to go to her, to offer her a ride, to simply be there. But the unspoken rules, the knowledge that she was Alexander Sterling's wife, held him captive. He couldn't go and ask to drop her off. So he remained, a silent guardian in the shadows, his heart aching with concern and a profound sense of helplessness.
The minutes stretched into an agonizing eternity. Claire sat on the cold stone planter, her earlier defiance long evaporated, replaced by a chilling sense of exposure and mounting anxiety. The deserted street, the distant city hum, the creeping cold of the night air – everything amplified her feeling of abandonment. Had he truly just hung up on her? Was this his way of punishing her for not picking his call? The acceptance letter, still in her purse, felt like a cruel joke, mocking her aspirations while she waited, alone and vulnerable.
Just as the first prickle of tears threatened to burn her eyes, a sleek, black limousine, a familiar shadow against the darker street, pulled off the curb across the street. Its powerful engine purred almost silently as it glided closer, finally coming to a halt directly in front of her. Claire's breath hitched. A wave of profound relief, so potent it made her lightheaded, washed over her. He had come.
The driver, Mr. Hart quickly exited the car. He didn't open Alexander's door. Instead, he moved swiftly to the rear passenger door on Claire's side.
Claire strained her neck, trying to see inside the tinted window. And then she did. Alexander Sterling was there, seated in the back, his formidable profile visible against the dim interior lights of the luxurious vehicle.
Mr. Hart opened the door with a quiet click. "Mrs. Sterling," he said, his voice flat and deferential, "please get inside the car." He held the door open, a silent command in his posture.
Claire's shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly, but she pushed herself up from the planter. She walked the few steps to the car, feeling like a puppet on strings. She slid into the plush leather seat, the interior instantly enveloping her in the scent of expensive materials and Alexander's crisp cologne. She settled herself beside him, the vastness of the back seat suddenly shrinking.
Alexander's face, illuminated by the dim interior light, was rigid, a mask of unyielding control. His eyes were fixed straight ahead, betraying no acknowledgment of her presence, no flicker of emotion. The air in the limousine was thick with a dead silence, so profound it felt like a physical weight. Claire instinctively knew that no words were expected from her, and perhaps, it was best for her to remain silent. The unspoken tension was almost suffocating.
After a minute that felt like an hour, her phone, still clutched in her hand, vibrated with an incoming call. The caller ID flashed Sasha. Claire's heart gave a tired leap. She wanted to answer, to tell her friend she was safe, but something held her back. She merely looked at the screen, letting it ring silently, not daring to disrupt the fragile, oppressive peace in the car.
"Why don't you pick up?" Alexander's voice, cold and sharp, sliced through the silence. He hadn't turned his head, his gaze still fixed forward, but his words were clearly directed at her.
Claire flinched. She looked at him, then down at her phone. "It's my friend Sasha," she murmured, her voice small. "I... I will call her later when I return home." She thought it was a reasonable explanation, a polite deferral.
Alexander finally turned his head, his dark eyes, piercing and intense, locking onto hers. His gaze was accusatory. "Why?" he scoffed, a sneer twisting his lips. "Because you can't talk with your friend in front of me?"
A hot flush crept up Claire's neck. The blatant insinuation, the immediate assumption of wrongdoing, stung her deeply. "It's... it's not like that," she stammered, scrambling for a coherent response. "It's just..."
But before she could finish, in a swift, unexpected moment, Alexander reached across the small space between them. His hand, strong and decisive, snatched her phone from her grasp.
"What are you doing?" she asked, a surge of indignant anger replacing her fear. Her voice was sharp, a genuine shock in her tone.
He ignored her, his gaze fixed on the phone screen. "Receiving it," he stated, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, as if her question was irrelevant.
"What's wrong with you?" Claire demanded, lunging slightly, trying desperately to snatch her phone back. Her fingers brushed his, but he was quicker, his grip firm. With a click, he answered the call, bringing the phone to his ear.
"Hello?" Sasha's voice, slightly muffled, came through the car's speakers.
Claire glared at Alexander, her face a mask of profound unpleasantness. His controlling attitude, his blatant disregard for her privacy, infuriated her. She remained silent, fuming, as Sasha's voice, now clearer, called her name again. "Claire? Are you there?"
Alexander, still holding the phone, looked at Claire, a silent command in his eyes. Claire, seeing the unspoken order, reluctantly took a breath and forced herself to speak into the phone, her voice strained but audible. "Oh, Sasha. Hi. I... I'm about to reach. I will call you back as soon as I get home, okay?"
"Okay," Sasha replied, sounding confused by Claire's abruptness and the strange background noise. "Talk soon." And with that, Sasha ended the call.
Claire sank back into the seat, her face a mixture of annoyance and frustration. The phone was still in Alexander's hand. He hadn't returned it.