He stepped closer—slow, trembling—eyes scanning my face.
“You have her eyes,” he whispered. “And you have… my gaze.”
A tear slid down his cheek.
The door flew open.
Mrs. Aldridge rushed in. “Mr. Harrington, Mr. Collins has arrived—”
She froze at the sight.
“OUT!” Adrian roared. “Cancel everything!”
The door slammed.
We were alone.
He poured himself a drink—hands shaking so badly crystal chimed against crystal. He knocked it back in one swallow.
Then he poured another and held it out to me.
“Drink,” he murmured—not an order, but a plea. “We need to talk… about things I should have confessed thirty years ago.”
