Cynthia locked every door, then climbed back into bed.
Maybe it was because Father Benedict had left, but that night, she slept deeper than she had in ages.
The next morning, she made herself breakfast—just some eggs and toast—and sat at the kitchen table, scrolling through the latest financial news from The Capital on her phone.
A call came in from an unlisted number.
Her grip on the phone tightened. Even without a name, she recognized the number instantly.
She stared at the digits for a long while, frowning, her thumb hovering over the screen. Finally, just as the ringtone was about to cut out, she answered.
A voice she hadn't heard in nearly seven years filled her ear—familiar, yet strangely foreign.
"Cyndi, it's Dad. I'm in Cloudcrest City on a business trip. I heard you're getting married, so I thought I'd stop by and see you. Do you have time? Could we meet?"
Her expression didn't change, but something flickered in her cool eyes.
"Where?"
He rattled off an address without hesitation.
Cynthia glanced at the time—she still had two hours before she was supposed to meet Dominic.
After hanging up, she lost her appetite. She cleaned up quickly, slipped on her coat, and left the apartment.
The address Terrance Tremaine had given her belonged to one of the city's more upscale hotels.
She stepped into the lobby, gave his name at the desk, and was led by a server into the restaurant.
Seated at a table, Terrance looked relaxed but impeccably dressed, his clothes silent proof of his expensive taste. Even after all these years, he seemed unchanged—his hair still thick and dark, a touch of distinguished grace lent by age alone.
On the table in front of him lay a gold credit card.
When he saw her, Terrance gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit."
She took her seat in silence. He immediately slid the credit card across the table toward her.
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