Wesley didn't follow them. He couldn't. His legs, usually the first to charge into a boardroom, felt like lead. He watched as the red, blue, and yellow raincoats faded into the neon blur of the Fifth Avenue traffic. The girl in yellow—the one who had held up a mirror to his soul—looked back one last time, her expression not of anger, but of a quiet, unnerving judgment.

Wesley’s obsession with Nina had not gone unnoticed. His board of directors, always looking for a reason to oust him, had been tracking his movements. They saw the erratic behavior, the missing meetings, the massive, unexplained wire transfers to a woman in Queens.

At the quarterly meeting, the Chairman stood up. “Wesley, your focus has been compromised. We’ve reviewed the financials. You’re being accused of misappropriating funds for personal use. We are calling for an immediate vote of no confidence.”

Wesley stared at the table. He could fight them. He could destroy them. He had the dirt to ruin every single person in that room.

But then his phone buzzed. It was a text from Nina: Tessa is in the hospital. High fever. They don’t know what it is.

Wesley looked at the board, then at the door. He didn't say a word. He stood up, adjusted his tie, and walked out of the most important meeting of his life.

He arrived at the hospital an hour later, breathless. Nina was sitting in a plastic chair, her head in her hands. When she looked up and saw him—disheveled, wild-eyed, and clearly having just walked away from his empire—she didn't push him away. She let him sit beside her.