Page 3

The words came out harsher than he intended, carrying all the anger and helplessness he had been struggling to contain.

She gave him one cold answer.

"Alright."

The call disconnected.

Silas stared at his phone, momentarily stunned. Then he immediately redialed her number, refusing to accept that their conversation could end like that.

The call wouldn't go through.

He tried again.

Nothing.

His brows drew together as he pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the screen. Perhaps the signal had dropped. The storm had been raging all night, and the power was still out. There had to be a reasonable explanation.

He dialed her number a third time.

The number you have dialed is no longer in service.

Silas went completely still.

He lowered the phone, his gaze fixed on the screen as the automated message replayed in his mind. No longer in service? What the hell did that mean?

He tried again, punching in every digit with increasing force, as though pressing the numbers harder could somehow bring her back within reach.

The same message answered him.

His stomach dropped.

He opened his contacts and checked the number. It was the same one he had called countless times before. The number he knew by heart. The number he had expected her to answer tonight, just as she always had.

Except she wasn't answering anymore.

A sharp, suffocating tension seized his chest. He dragged in a breath, but it did nothing to ease the pressure building beneath his ribs. His fingers trembled around the phone, and he clenched his jaw so hard that it began to ache.

He turned toward the bedroom door and stormed across the room, grabbing the handle and wrenching it downward. It remained locked.

"Open the fucking door!" he roared, slamming his fist against it. "Did you hear me? Open it!"

His voice thundered through the hallway, but no one came.

Silas struck the door again, his knuckles connecting painfully with the wood. He barely felt it. All he could think about was Allison's final message and the dead phone number on his screen.

She had planned this.

The realization struck him with such force that he stopped breathing for a moment. She hadn't simply stormed off in anger. She had decided to leave Manhattan, changed her number, and made certain he couldn't contact her again.

And she had done all of it without telling him why.

A furious, helpless sound escaped his throat. He turned away from the door and marched toward the window.

He seized the window frame and tried to force it open.

It wouldn't move.

He shoved against it with both hands, then struck the reinforced glass with his fist.