The car was quiet except for the sound of the tires on the wet road.
The rain had stopped a few minutes ago, but the streets still glistened under the city lights.
Nicole sat beside Donald in the back seat, her legs crossed neatly, perfume floating around her.
She kept staring at him.
Donald's eyes were on his phone. He had sent Grace three messages already, but none had been delivered.
He called once more, but the line was still unreachable.
"Still calling her?" Nicole asked with a half-smile. "You know she's not going to answer."
Donald ignored her. He typed another message:
Grace, please, let's talk. I didn't know what my mother planned.
Nicole leaned closer. "What does she have that I don't?" she asked quietly. "You used to look at me that way too."
Donald sighed and put his phone down.
"Nicole, I'm not in the mood for this."
"I'm serious, Donald," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I came back from London for you. For us. And you won't even look at me."
