The chapel door clicked shut behind her, but the sound echoed in his chest like a gunshot. Calvin sat back down in the pew, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.
Two years.
Two years since he'd last seen her face, heard her voice cut through him like glass. Two years of wondering if she was happy, if she'd forgiven him, if she ever thought about that night the way he did—every damn day.
But she looked at him like he was poison. Like his very presence contaminated the air around her.
Maybe it did.
His phone buzzed. A text from his assistant: "Board meeting moved to tomorrow 9 AM. Martinez situation urgent."
Martinez situation. That's what they were calling it now. Richard Martinez's slow decline, the power vacuum at one of the city's most influential companies, the vultures circling.
Calvin deleted the message without responding.
