Sonia Quincy left the café and took a taxi home. It was almost six in the evening by the time she walked through the door.
The weather was bad today. The sky had been gloomy since noon. Massive dark clouds rolled in and out, and a cool wind had started to blow outside.
Her rental apartment was on the fifth floor, and the bedroom window faced a sturdy camphor tree. At this moment, the wind was making the tree's lush branches sway back and forth, producing a soft rustling sound.
Sonia Quincy sat in the chair by her bed, her gaze fixed on the swaying branches outside the window.
Perhaps it was the bad weather, but her mood had turned gloomy along with it. A section of the tree trunk that she usually found so full of life now looked utterly desolate and bleak.
A cool breeze swept in, lifting Sonia's loose hair and clearing some of the fog from her mind.
'Renee Sinclair, don't even think about stealing him. Felix Preston is mine…'
