Jack’s POV
The snow fell steadily outside the windows of my hotel suite, but the cold inside felt sharper. The silence of the room was oppressive—too clean, too sterile—after the storm I’d just walked out of at Rose’s apartment.
My head throbbed with the memory of her face, the fear in her eyes as she held Ellie close. Her apartment had felt warm, lived-in, but it was suffocating with tension. The media storm was closing in, and I’d left them there to face it.
But what choice did I have? Mason had been insistent that I return to the hotel to strategize. “This isn’t just about you, Jack. It’s about your legacy,” he’d said. And now, I sat here, hands clenched around a cooling cup of coffee, trying to focus on anything other than the picture of Ellie’s innocent face when she called me her
