Zane could feel every fiber of his body straining, crying out for sleep as he stepped out of his car. He had parked by the side of a gleaming high-rise apartment block, the kind that promised privacy for a premium.
He knew he was operating on fumes, but he also knew he had to do this; the alternative was enduring Olive's silent treatment, a psychological torture she could extend for as long as she saw fit.
He had never known anyone capable of wielding silence like a weapon quite like her—well, except perhaps for Gianna, if one factored her into the equation.
He exhaled a long, terrible, and weary sigh before he started toward the towering gates. Maybe, if Olive found it in her heart to be merciful, he could steal one hour of sleep here before returning to the Thorne mansion.
Thank goodness tomorrow was Sunday. It wasn't a workday in the traditional sense, though "rest" was a foreign concept to him lately.
