The engine of Isabella's sleek black sedan hummed softly as she navigated the bustling downtown streets, the city lights blurring into streaks of gold and red against the evening sky. Henry sat in the passenger seat, his tall frame slumped against the leather upholstery, his sharp features etched with a mix of anxiety and desperation. His warm eyes, usually so steady and ambitious, darted restlessly to the passing buildings, his hands clenched into fists on his lap. The air inside the car was thick with unspoken tension, broken only by the occasional honk from impatient drivers weaving through traffic.
"Isabella, I... I don't know what to expect," Henry finally murmured, his voice low and strained, laced with the remnants of his recent fever. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, his handsome face pale under the glow of streetlamps. "What if she's really gone for good? What if this marriage thing is... real?"
