I race back to my car, my untouched bowl of soup sitting abandoned on the table. Every instinct screams at me to eat, to nourish myself first after hours of neglect, but my hunger pales in comparison to the burning urgency in my chest.
The drive to the Montemayor residence is a blur, the streets passing by in a blur of colors and lights as my mind continues to race with thoughts of Catherine. I have to talk to her again, to make her understand, to beg her to come back to me!
As I pull up to the gates of the Montemayor mansion, my heart pounds in my chest, my hands shaking with nervous anticipation. I lean on the horn, pressing it insistently as I wait for someone to answer.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the smaller gate creaks open, revealing a middle-aged woman with a tin
