Elise blinked rapidly.

A single tear escaped the corner of her eye before she could stop it.

It traced a path down her cheek and splashed silently onto the polished floor.

Yet, even as it fell, her lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile.

A profound sense of relief warred with a sharp, piercing heartache within her chest.

Patrick's hand closed firmly around hers.

He didn't hesitate, pulling her away from the opulent ballroom without a backward glance.

William watched their retreating figures, his expression unreadable.

The distance between them grew with every step they took.

Patrick's presence was a shield.

The security guard at the entrance merely bowed his head, offering no resistance.

Rules, it seemed, were flexible, bending to the will of the powerful.

Soon, Elise was settled in the passenger seat of Patrick's luxury car.

The engine purred to life, and they sped towards the airport.

A heavy silence filled the vehicle, broken only by the hum of the tires on asphalt.

Patrick glanced sideways at Elise's profile.

Her face, cool and composed now, was a stark contrast to the emotional turmoil he'd glimpsed earlier.

The mask was back in place, flawless and impenetrable.

"Aren't you curious?" Patrick's voice cut through the quiet, startling her from her thoughts. "About what William wanted with me?"

He studied her, a strange reluctance stirring in him.

This detached calm was worse than the tears.

He preferred the fiery, vibrant woman whose spirit could light up a room, not this subdued version folding her magnificent wings.

"No," Elise replied, turning her gaze from the passing city lights to meet his. "It's painfully predictable."

"Really?" Patrick arched a skeptical brow, though he already knew she was right.

Elise's intelligence had always been one of her most formidable assets.

"First," she began, her voice steady, "he would inquire about your grandfather. Attempt to coax information from you, to see where his loyalties lie."

A slow, appreciative smile spread across Patrick's face. He didn't need to confirm it.

"Second," she continued, "he would ask about us. He's undoubtedly eager to see us together, to neatly sever William's remaining ties."

Patrick gave a single, impressed nod.

"And lastly," Elise concluded, the realization dawning as she spoke, "to delay us. To ensure I witnessed the touching display between William and Victoria."

She hadn't fully grasped that final point until now.

The Stuarts had gone to such lengths to get her to this charity ball.

Of course they wouldn't let her leave before the main event unfolded.

"Sometimes," Patrick sighed, a wry twist to his lips, "I think being this astute is a curse. It must be exhausting. Wouldn't it be simpler to be a little less rational? To just grab William's hand and make a scene, drag him away from all this? I doubt he could refuse you if you were the one initiating chaos."

A small, sad smile touched Elise's lips.

She understood the sentiment, the fleeting appeal of such recklessness.

But they were adults.

Caprice was a luxury they couldn't afford.

Being smart, being rational—it was their only defense.

It was the only path that didn't end in ruin.

She couldn't take that risk.

William couldn't protect her, not from this.

Now, they would walk their separate paths.

They would each find their own way to bloom.

Perhaps that was for the best.

Silence descended once more, thick and heavy.

It was shattered by a violent, sudden jolt.

The car swerved sharply, tires screeching.

The force of the impact threw them both forward against their seatbelts.

Alarm flashed in Patrick's eyes.

"What happened?" he barked at the chauffeur.

The driver's face was pale, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "Sir! I believe we're being pursued!"

Patrick and Elise whipped their heads around.

Several dark sedans were closing in fast, their blinding high beams flooding the car's interior.

"Lose them! Now!" Patrick commanded, his voice sharp with urgency.

"Yes, sir!" The chauffeur slammed his foot on the accelerator.

The car surged forward, pressing Patrick and Elise back into their seats with the force of the acceleration.

The quiet streets of Rockville were no longer peaceful.

The roar of multiple engines shattered the night, a menacing symphony of pursuit.

Patrick immediately pulled out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen.

He tried one number, then another.

Frustration etched his features as the calls failed to connect.

The signal was dead.

"Elise," he said, his voice tight, turning to her with a look of grim realization. "Help me. Something's wrong."

She saw it then—the slight tremor in his hand, the panic he was trying to suppress.

Something was very, very wrong.