Isadora called out, "Stop."


    Terrell hit the brakes and nced over at her. "What''s wrong?"


    Staring straight ahead, Isadora''s voice was cool and distant. "Mr. Fawcett, I''m sorry, but I need you to get out."


    Her words, paired with that frosty look, made everything suddenly clear.


    Terrell realized she had only been using him.


    A wry smile tugged at his lips.


    So from beginning to end, this woman had never given him even the slightest chance—not even a crumb of hope to cling to.


    Unable to help himself, Terrell asked quietly, "Isadora, do you really love him that much?"


    Hershes trembled. A single tear slid down her cheek. "Yes. I love him."


    It was like a de driven straight into his chest.


    His hands clenched the steering wheel, knuckles turning white.


    "Then... should I drive you home?" he managed.


    Isadora lifted her head, calm andposed. "No, thank you. I''ve thought it through. There are more important things in my life right now-love isn''t everything."


    In Terrell''s mind, Isadora had always seemed delicate beneath her beautiful exterior. But in this moment, he realized how wrong he''d been.


    She was stronger than he''d ever imagined.


    He stepped out of the Mercedes, leaving her in the driver''s seat. She didn''t look back, not even once, as she slid behind the wheel.


    A momentter, the Mercedes purred to life and disappeared down the street.


    Terrell just stood there, watching until the car vanished from sight.


    ***


    Underground garage. Inside a Rolls-Royce.


    Victor looked ashen, sweat beading on his forehead.


    Kemp was pacing, panic written all over his face. "Mr. Fitzgerald, don''t scare me like this! If something happens to you, what about everyone at Fitzgerald Group? What about me?"


    "Shut up. You''re giving me a headache," Victor muttered, eyes closed, brow furrowed in pain.


    Suddenly, the squeal of brakes echoed through the garage.


    A luxury car screeched to a halt beside the Rolls-Royce.


    Finley jumped out of the driver''s seat, grabbed a medical kit, and hurried over.


    The next second, he was inside the Rolls-Royce.


    Seeing the man slumped on the backseat, skin ghostly pale, lips drained of color rage red in Finley''s chest.


    He felt like he was about to


    explode-but forced himself to stay focused. He opened the medical kit, pulling out a scalpel, bandages, and every antiseptic he''d need. His hands moved with practiced speed, gone was his usual easygoing attitude; his face was all business now.


    Without hesitation, Finley used the scalpel to cut away Victor''s blood-soaked shirt.


    The heavy scent of blood filled the car.


    Victor''s shoulder was shed deep, the wound gaping and oozing fresh blood.


    Finley''s jaw tightened, but his hands didn''t falter as he began cleaning and re- dressing the wound.


    Through it all, Victor didn''t make a sound-not even a groan.


    "You need to be in a hospital," Finley said sharply. "Did you hear me? This cut goes right through your shoulder, and it''s about to get infected! The stitches have split


    open you need them re-done, right now!"


    Victor kept his eyes shut, voice t and emotionless. "Say another word and I''ll throw you out of the car."


    "Victor!" Finley snapped-he never called him by name, not even in anger, but today he''d had enough. "Are you trying to kill yourself?"


    "I saw the press conference today," Finley continued, his voice shaking. "Once you''re better, you need to find Isadora and exin everything to her."


    Victor opened his eyes. Tears slid across his lips, his dark eyes empty and hollow. "She''s hurting. I just don''t want her to be alone anymore."