Jack had been pacing the length of his guest suite for so long that his footsteps felt permanently etched into the floor.
The air conditioner hummed softly overhead, but the chill did nothing to cool the nervous heat prickling across his skin. A faint sheen of sweat clung to his collarbone, sliding slowly down his chest. His throat felt tight—far tighter than any corporate board meeting or underworld interrogation he had ever endured.
This room was not an official cell, but it was nowhere near freedom. He was a "guest" under heavy guard, a high-value hostage with luxury linens and round-the-clock surveillance. And tonight, the walls felt like they were closing in on him.
His mind kept looping back to the rain-slicked alley behind the hospital... the exact second Arora had materialized out of the shadows. Her dark eyes had cut straight through him—sharp, suspicious, and entirely unreadable. He had felt the metaphorical noose tightening around his neck from that moment on.
