RICHARDSON'S POV.The club was dark, the kind of darkness that swallowed the room in shadows while neon lights sliced through it like knives. The bass thumped through the floorboards, rattling my chest with every beat, yet I barely noticed. My mind was elsewhere, on Abigail, on Tristan, on the constant, gnawing frustration that no matter what I did, she always managed to slip through my fingers.“You’re not looking happy tonight,” a familiar voice said beside me. I turned my head slightly, squinting through the haze.“Not happy?” I repeated, letting a bitter laugh escape. “I’m far from happy. Nothing is going according to plan.”My friend, Darius, leaned back on the booth across from me, a grin tugging at his lips. “Ah, I see. Abigail again, I take it?”I didn’t answer right away, choosing instead to swirl the drink, listening to it slosh against the sides of the glass. “She’s untouchable,” I said finally. “Every move I make, every step I plan, she anticipates it. Even now, Alexander
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