"I left them in the care of the crew before I left," Jack reported, walking alongside me as we entered the towering, glass-fronted building that belonged to Charles Kessington.
Gwen's father.
A man I hadn't seen in years, but one whose shadow loomed over me constantly.
After Gwen barged into my home last night, unhinged and entitled, I had made a decision—
No more trimming the branches.
I was cutting down the entire damn tree.
I knew Gwen wouldn't have walked in so boldly if she didn't have her father's backing.
Jack's voice was low, cautious. "Sir, do you really need to be here in person to pass your message?"
I kept walking, my gaze locking onto the lone floor at the top of the building—the one that seemed to radiate darkness even in broad daylight.
"I don't do warnings over the phone, Jack," I muttered. "He needs to see my face to understand just how serious I am."
The receptionist's eyes widened when she saw me, recognition flickering behind them.
