Scarlett's Upper West Side apartment was shrouded in a suffocating silence. The air inside felt heavy, thick with the lingering scent of alcohol and a sorrow that refused to evaporate. Scarlett lay curled on the sofa, still draped in the remnants of last night's luxury, huddled like a child trying to shield herself from the world.
In the kitchen, Jane stared at her vibrating phone. Julian Caldwell's name illuminated the screen, cutting through the pre-dawn gloom. Jane took a long, steadying breath before sliding the green button.
"She's sleeping, Julian," Jane whispered coldly, skipping the pleasantries.
"Why won't she pick up, Jane? Why did she block me? And what the hell are those photos of her and Sean? Has she lost her mind?!" Julian's voice was raspy, a cocktail of fury and desperation. His words broke and crackled, distorted by the signal interference still haunting the Scottish Highlands.
