Damian's Pov
The city rushes past in streaks of gray and gold, the midday sun reflecting off the glass towers of Manhattan. Four days. It has been four days since Elle walked out of that office and cut me out of her existence. I've been blocked on every channel. My calls go straight to an automated void and my messages remains unread.
I went to her apartment this morning at dawn. Sat in my car like a common stalker, watching the entrance of her building, waiting for a glimpse of her. I was ready to corner her, to force her into a conversation, to explain the unexplainable. But when the door finally opened, it wasn't Elle. It was Camila.
"She traveled, sir," she said, her voice flat and devoid of the usual warmth she shows. "I don't know when she'll return. She didn't leave an itinerary."
