(Etienne's Point Of View)
I didn't go back to my hotel.
Instead, I walked the streets of Manhattan until dawn broke over the skyline. By the time I found myself outside The Plaza again, the city was waking up—delivery trucks rumbling past, early risers grabbing coffee, the world moving on like my entire life hadn't just imploded.
I stood across the street, staring up at the building. She was in there somewhere. Probably sleeping. Probably still hating me.
I should leave. Should give her the space she'd asked for.
But I couldn't.
Not yet.
I crossed the street and walked into the lobby. The woman at the front desk gave me a polite smile.
"Can I help you, sir?"
"I need to leave something for a guest. Isobel Delacroix."
"Of course. What would you like to leave?"
I pulled out a note I'd written during my walk. It was meant to be simple and direct. "I'm not leaving New York until you talk to me. Really talk to me. Room 2847- A"
