But now, the armor Seth had forged in years of ruthless battles was nothing more than the arrow he wielded to protect his beloved Bianca—an arrow that, after seven long years, struck Noreen right between the eyes.
It hurt—terribly so—but pain had a way of sharpening clarity.
By the time she left Hesper Lounge, rain had started to fall outside. Late autumn showers always arrived without warning.
Noreen's stomach, still unsettled after vomiting, offered her little relief. Her face was drained of color.
She pulled out her phone to call a ride, but Seth's driver spotted her and jogged over.
"Ms. Gilmore, is the party over? Where's Mr. Harcourt? Didn't he leave with you?"
"He'll need a bit longer," Noreen replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
Inside, the party was still going strong, and Seth—charming as ever—was in the company of his latest muse. He likely wasn't coming out anytime soon.
The driver glanced back at the entrance, then at Noreen's pale face. Taking matters into his own hands, he said, "Ms. Gilmore, why don't I take you home? It's pouring and hailing a cab at this hour won't be easy."
Noreen didn't protest. She felt so wretched, stubbornness seemed pointless.
They'd barely made it halfway when Seth called, his voice clipped and cold as it came through the car's speaker. "Where are you?"
The driver answered honestly, explaining that Noreen had felt unwell and, assuming Seth would be a while, he'd decided to take her home.
Seth's response was icy: "Do you remember who signs your paychecks?"
The driver stiffened. "I'll come back for you right away, sir."
But just before the line disconnected, Seth's tone melted into something gentle, almost warm. "The car will be there soon, Bianca. It's cold out—wait inside."
Bianca's reply was soft and sweet. "Will you keep me company, Seth?"
Noreen never heard his answer; the call had already ended.
The driver looked uneasy.
Noreen spoke up. "Zachary, just drop me at the curb. I'll get a cab myself."


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