Chapter 193: Summoned By Elizabeth
Aeri stood a few steps behind me, her arms crossed, her tight white t-shirt and black mini skirt hugging her curves, her black shirt slightly rumpled, her eyes fixed on my back.
I stood at the reception desk, my white inner t-shirt, black shirt, and black pants feeling heavy, my hands in my pockets as I handed over my debit card, the weight of our earlier argument still pressing on my chest, her words—"we can’t"—echoing in my mind.
"Thank you for your stay, sir." the receptionist said, her voice polite and warm, sliding my debit card back across the counter with a practiced smile. She handed me a receipt, her eyes flicking briefly to Aeri, who stood silent, her gaze distant, her lips pressed into a thin line.
I nodded, pocketing the card and receipt, my jaw tight, my hair falling over my eyes as I turned away from the desk.
I walked past Aeri without a word, my hands stuffed deeper into my pockets, my footsteps muffled on the plush lobby carpet. I could feel her eyes on my back, heavy with sadness, but I didn’t turn, the hurt between us a raw, unspoken wound.
She slowly turned, her boots clicking softly as she followed, keeping her distance, the space between us stretching like the cold morning air.
We stepped out into the snowy street, the chill biting at my face, a thin layer of fresh snow crunching under my shoes. I walked ahead, my hands still in my pockets, my breath visible in the crisp air, my heart heavy with the silence between us. Aeri trailed about ten steps behind, her footsteps lighter, hesitant, her black mini skirt swishing faintly, her ponytail swaying with each step. The city was quiet, the snow muffling the usual hum of traffic, the tall buildings around us dusted white, their windows reflecting the pale winter sky. I kept my eyes forward, the sting of her rejection burning, unsure if I could face her without breaking again.
"Ez—" Aeri’s voice started, soft and tentative, calling my name, but she stopped abruptly, her words cut off as I froze in place, my attention caught by a sleek black car pulling up to the curb in front of me, its tinted windows gleaming under the morning light.
The engine purred softly, and the door swung open with a smooth click, a man stepping out, his black suit crisp, his black sunglasses shielding his eyes, his posture rigid and professional.
"Mr. Ezra?" he asked, his voice low and direct, standing in front of me, his gloved hands clasped, his face unreadable behind the dark lenses.