The fog was rolling in off the Pacific, swallowing the Golden Gate Bridge and draping San Francisco in a cold, gray shroud. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse, looking out toward the glowing sun at the horizon of San Francisco. I wasn't just looking at the rising sun, I was however imagining Chloe in the hospital .Somewhere in one of those sterile, white rooms, holding a scalpel, saving a life with the same steady hands that had just shaken my entire world.
"I just didn't want you to have a taste of something you are no longer entitled to."
Her voice haunted the room, sharper than the wind whipping against the glass. She had walked out of the Reed estate with the poise of a Queen, leaving me standing in the wreckage of a conversation I thought I controlled. It was a humiliating sensation—to be the man who owned the skyline but couldn't command the woman in his own dining room.
