“That was poetic,” he said. “Goodbye, Charlotte.”
She turned and walked into the rain.
Outside, the storm had grown heavier. Within moments her hair was damp, and city lights bled across the wet pavement in broken streaks of gold and white. She stood beneath the building’s awning for a few seconds, letting the full weight of the afternoon settle into her chest.
Then she reached into the bottom of her handbag and pulled out an old phone she had not used in nearly five years.
There was only one number she needed.
She dialed from memory.
The call connected almost instantly.
“Hayes Estate,” a receptionist answered politely.
Charlotte closed her eyes for one heartbeat.
“Hello,” she said softly. “Could you connect me to my grandfather?”
Seconds later, a deeper voice came onto the line.
“Charlotte?”
Just hearing it nearly broke the fragile control she had managed to hold together all afternoon.
Her grandfather’s voice carried the calm authority of a man who had spent decades being listened to without needing to raise his tone.
“You were right about everything,” she said.
There was a pause.
Then she added, “And you’re going to be a great-grandfather.”
Silence followed.
When Richard Hayes finally spoke again, something in his voice had sharpened.
“Stay where you are,” he said. “I’m sending a car.”
Another pause.
Then, more quietly, “And God help the man who made you cry in the rain today, because I certainly will not.”
Three months passed.
And in that time, Charlotte Hayes vanished completely from the glittering social orbit Julian Mercer now occupied beside Victoria Lane.
Julian enjoyed the attention.
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