Chapter 655
The city lights blurred past the car window, illuminating the sharp, cold angles of Jarred Sterling’s face.
Days of wading through a mire of conspiracies and corporate sabotage had left him utterly exhausted.
A suffocating weight pressed down on his chest, making it hard to breathe.
Only the involuntary image of Sienna Sloan’s beautiful face offered any reprieve.
She was the sole remaining beacon of hope in his bleak, desolate life.
His gaze drifted toward the brightly lit storefront of an old bakery on the corner, its familiar sign catching his eye.
It was the shop Sienna used to frequent the most.
She always had a weakness for soft, sweet midnight snacks.
He knew her habits better than anyone; whenever she was buried in work or stressed, she craved sugar.
Even though she had drawn a hard line between them and treated him with icy indifference, he still couldn’t resist the urge to care for her.
“Pull over,” Jarred said quietly.
The car rolled to a stop, and he stepped out, personally ordering a box of her favorite midnight treat before heading straight for Solstice Hill.
The Bentley parked outside the villa.
Jarred reached out and pressed the doorbell.
The maid opened the door, her expression instantly twisting into nervous panic when she saw him standing there. “Mr… Mr. Sterling p>
Jarred maintained a neutral expression. “I brought her favorite Honeyed Rice Bites p>
Mrs. Landry froze, her eyes dropping to the elegant dessert box in his hand.
Everyone in the household knew the current situation.
He had been entirely stripped of his access and kicked out of the property.
This was now strictly Ms. Sloan’s private domain.
The lady of the house had made it explicitly clear that he was not allowed to enter or disturb her.
But the man standing before her was Jarred Sterling, the legal owner of the villa.
He was the terrifyingly powerful head of the Sterlings.
Too intimidated to defy him, Mrs. Landry forced herself to step aside and let him in, murmuring anxiously.
“Mr. Sterling… please wait a moment. I’ll go upstairs and let Ms. Sloan know p>
Jarred gave a slight nod, the harshness in his eyes softening into something uncharacteristically gentle.
He stood quietly in the living room, gripping the box, harboring a faint glimmer of hope he didn’t even realize he had.
If she would just accept the food, if he could just see her face and exchange a single word, it would be enough.
Those two short minutes stretched into an agonizing eternity.
But moments later, Mrs. Landry hurried back down the stairs, trembling as she delivered the message.
“Mr. Sterling… Ms. Sloan says she doesn’t want it. She asked you to take your things and leave.
She also requested that you exit the premises immediately and refrain from bothering her again p>
Every ounce of hope he held was instantly extinguished, leaving him numb.
The warm, bright lights of the living room failed to penetrate the dark abyss of his eyes.
Jarred’s grip tightened, the string of the box digging into his fingers until his knuckles turned white.
He managed to maintain his final shred of dignity, completely stripped of his usual commanding presence.
The last flickering spark in his gaze died out completely.
He knew he deserved this.
He had failed her too many times, walking himself into this isolated corner until she had no choice but to A abandon him completely.
He didn’t dare push her, terrified of causing her any further distress.
After a long pause, Jarred swallowed the bitter lump in his throat and turned to leave without a word.
Just as he stepped out of the foyer, his gaze swept across the corner of the courtyard.
He froze.
Parked quietly in the shadows of the trees was a luxurious, custom-painted Aston Martin.
Its sleek, immaculate body exuded an undeniable arrogance.
It wasn’t Sienna’s car, nor did it belong to Thea Stanton or Luna Lennox.
Out of all her friends in the Capital, none of them drove anything like this.
But he could recognize that license plate with his eyes closed.
It was the city’s only custom black. plate engraved with the word Draken a flex someone I joked about at Silas Draken’s birthday party last year.
They had laughed about how Silas collected supercars like stamps, even turning his plates into a personal signature.