Hailey's pov
I didn’t go back to the balcony.
I walked straight through the living room, past the soft glow of the chandeliers and the quiet tension hanging in the air like smoke. My steps were steady, controlled—too controlled for the storm clawing at my chest. My fingers reached the marble console by the door, closing around my car keys.
The soft jingle echoed sharply in the silence.
“Hailey?”
Roy’s voice stopped me mid-step.
I turned slowly. He was already standing, his jacket draped over the back of the chair, concern etched into his face in that way that always made me feel seen—and guilty.
“Where are you going?” he asked. “It’s late.”
“I need to handle something,” I said. “Something urgent.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion, but worry. “Now?”
“Yes.” I forced a
