In a luxurious white-themed bedroom adorned with American classic-style furniture, the crystal chandelier's soft sparkle reflected gently off the cold marble floor. But all the grandeur felt hollow to Clara. She sat pensively on the edge of a king-size bed—too wide, too cold this morning.
Her gaze was vacant, fixed on the empty side of the bed—where Greyson should have been lying next to her.
"He broke his promise to always be here for me... to stand by me through hard times," she whispered to herself. Her voice was faint, hoarse with swallowed anger and unspoken disappointment. "I think he has a new favorite now..."
A soft knock echoed on the door. A calm male voice followed, "Ma'am..."
Clara turned briefly, then rose quickly. The long red silk pajamas she wore flowed gracefully with her movements. She tied the sash at her waist with a sharp tug, as if channeling her fury into that single gesture.
"Come in!" she called out.
