As the cab pulled away from the pastry shop, Eliana Bennett sagged into the worn leather seat like the weight of the world had finally cornered her. Her body trembled—not with the neat, controlled shivers of someone holding it together, but like a fragile leaf caught in a merciless storm.
Outside, the city unfurled in a blur of wet lights and shadows. Just as the engine rumbled to life, the first drops of rain began to fall—soft at first, then quick and relentless, drumming against the roof in a rhythm that felt almost cruel. It was the kind of rain that belonged in bad romance movies, the kind that mocked your pain with cinematic timing.
Through the rain-streaked window, skyscrapers sliced through the bruised gray sky, their mirrored surfaces catching fleeting glimmers of passing headlights. Pedestrians huddled beneath umbrellas, moving in hurried clusters, while the distant hum of traffic grew louder, a hollow soundtrack to her unraveling.
