Chapter 7 - The Bitter Taste of Regret
The study fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.
Charles Whitman sank slowly back into his leather chair. The man who owned hotels, construction companies, and half of Dallas suddenly looked old. The iron spine that had carried him through the death of his wife and decades of corporate warfare seemed to snap under the weight of his own foolishness.
He looked up at his sons. They weren't looking at him with anger anymore. They were looking at him with pity—and that was infinitely worse.
"I made a mistake," Charles said, his voice cracking. The words tasted like ash in his mouth. "I let my guard down. I was lonely... and she played me."
"You didn't just make a mistake, Dad," Noah said quietly. "You broke someone who gave the best years of her life to this family. You humiliated her in front of everyone."
Ethan crossed his arms. "Where is she?" Charles asked, panic suddenly gripping his chest. "Where is Emily?"
"She's at the Grandview Hotel," Ethan replied coldly. "On my dime. Because unlike you, we didn't throw her out onto the street with nothing."
Charles stood up so fast his chair rolled back and crashed into the bookshelf. Without another word, he grabbed his car keys from the desk.
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"Where are you going?" Ethan asked.
"To fix this," Charles said, his voice fierce with desperation. "Or die trying."
