Chapter 83

• Howard gripped the steering wheel of his sleek black SUV, knuckles white as the engine purred through the rain-slicked city streets. The wipers slashed rhythmically against the windshield, mirroring the storm raging inside him. He'd stormed out of the hospital in a blaze of fury, words like daggers he'd flung at Charlotte—her family as "poor nobodies," her understanding of reputation mocked, threats of unforgivable consequences. Now, alone with the hum of tires on wet asphalt, guilt clawed at his chest, sharp and unrelenting.
• What the hell was that? He thought, jaw clenched as he navigated the blur of taillights. I saved her life—tackled her out of death's way—and then I tore into her like some possessive caveman. Over a doctor bringing sandwiches? Pathetic. Jealousy—he admitted it now, the bitter truth twisting like a knife. Dr. Carmen's easy care, the hallway glances... it gnawed at him, a threat to his control. She's not even mine yet. Just ink on a contract. So why does it burn like this?
• A red light forced him to brake hard, the jolt snapping him back. His eyes drifted down to his shirt—ketchup and mustard stains from their hotdog escapade still smeared across the crisp fabric, a ridiculous reminder of her laugh, her defiance, and that fleeting moment of real connection amid the street chaos. And here I am, acting like some jealous husband already. We're not even married.