The Price of a Sunrise

""Vince, I... I didn't know,"" Isabella stammered, taking a step backward into the hallway, her hands flying to her mouth. ""I swear to God, I didn't know—""

""Get out,"" Vincent said.

It wasn't a shout.

It was the low, grinding command of a man who controlled empires, delivered with a chilling finality that made the walls seem to shake.

""Vince, please—""

""I said get out of my house,"" Vincent roared, turning on her with a fury so violent that Isabella shrieked and scrambled backward down the hallway, her hurried footsteps clattering down the stairs until the front door slammed shut behind her.

The silence returned to the bedroom.

Heavier this time.

Suffocating.

Vincent turned back toward Claire, his eyes swimming with a desperate, pathetic plea for forgiveness.

""Claire,"" he choked out, taking a step toward her. ""Let me fix this. Let me take care of you. We can go away—we can start over, just the two of us—""

""There is no us, Vincent,"" Claire said, walking past him toward the walk-in closet.

She pulled a lightweight duffel bag down from the top shelf and unzipped it across the bed.

""Claire, stop. You can't leave,"" Vincent pleaded, panic rising in his voice as he grabbed the edge of the dresser. ""This is your home! You're my wife!""

""I was your wife last night when I was begging you to come home,"" Claire said, folding a few sweaters with steady, methodical hands. ""Today, I'm just the woman standing in your way.""