The engine falls silent with a smooth, whisper-soft hum, the last traces of vibration fading beneath my hands.
I sit for a moment in the sudden stillness, my hands resting on the steering wheel, the leather warm beneath my palms. The night presses against the windows, dark and quiet.
My father's voice still lingers in my mind.
His smile.
His words.
That unexpected hug.
It's strange.
For so many years, I've looked at him and seen only the Chairman of Roselle Group. Cold. Demanding. Unshakable.
But tonight, for the first time in a long while, he looked less like a chairman and more like a father.
I step out.
The door closes behind me with a soft, final thud, the sound swallowed by the quiet of the evening. I straighten my jacket, smoothing the fabric out of habit, and glance down.
The rose is still in my hand.
It's perfect, really—deep crimson, almost black in the dim light. I hadn't planned on buying it. I hadn't even thought about flowers tonight.
