Chapter 97 — Richard Morne POV
I sit alone in my office, the only sound the soft hum of the mana heater and the quiet clink of ice in my untouched glass.
On my desk, beside a stack of neglected reports, is a photo frame. The woman inside it is beautiful—dark hair, brown eyes full of mischief, a smile that once brought me to my knees. My wife.
I touch the edge of the frame, my fingers lingering against the glass.
"Look what our daughter's done now," I murmur.
The tab on my desk still plays the footage. The viral one. Daelan and Emmaline—drunk off their minds, laughing like fools, twirling in the middle of a gala floor as if the world belonged to them and no one else.
I should be furious.
Hell, I was furious. On instinct.
But now?
Now I just… miss her.
It's on days like this—chaotic, emotional, stupidly messy days—that I miss my wife the most.
