The Prison-Made Queen novel Chapter 597

Suddenly, a familiar black car caught her eye. It was Callahan's car. Leilani recognized it almost instantly, as it was the same vehicle he always drove when picking her up from work or taking her out on dates.

Callahan was supposed to be at the office right now, so why was he here? Unconsciously, Leilani eased off the gas pedal, slowing the car down.

She watched as Callahan's car rolled to a gentle stop in front of a hotel. The door opened, and he stepped out. He was wearing a dark gray suit—the very one she had bought him as a gift during her trip to Garrison City. His posture was tall and straight, his sharp jawline defined perfectly in the sunlight.

Leilani's fingers instinctively tightened around the steering wheel. She stared at him, feeling somewhat dazed, because she clearly remembered the text he had sent her earlier. His itinerary had explicitly stated he would be in meetings at the company.

Her gaze unconsciously followed Callahan's figure until a tall woman emerged from the hotel's revolving doors and approached him with a radiant smile. The woman wore a sharply tailored beige trench coat. Her long hair cascaded in loose waves, complementing her bright red lipstick. She familiarly patted Callahan's arm, and the two of them leaned in to exchange a few words before walking into the hotel side by side.

Throughout the entire interaction, there were no hugs or holding hands—nothing that could be considered overly physical. Yet, the easy familiarity between them and the way they moved in step hit Leilani harder than any obvious display of intimacy could have.

Moreover, a lone man and woman heading into such a private place together... they couldn't possibly be talking about work, right?

As a horrifying possibility crossed her mind, it felt as though an invisible hand tightly gripped her chest, making her breath hitch. The scene had unfolded so abruptly that even someone as habitually calm and composed as Leilani didn't know how to react.

Clinging to a sliver of hope, she pulled her car over to the curb and parked. She killed the engine, rolled her window halfway down, and stared blankly at the hotel entrance. The familiar black Maybach was still parked in its spot.

Time ticked by.

One minute.

Night had fallen by the time Callahan returned home. When he pushed the door open, the apartment was dim. Only a single floor lamp was lit in the living room, its warm, yellowish glow barely outlining the furniture. A stagnant silence hung in the air, so heavy that even the sound of breathing seemed unusually loud.

His eyes landed on the sofa.

Leilani sat there quietly, her hands folded in her lap and her back perfectly straight, as though she had been holding that posture for a very long time. Her gaze was fixed unblinkingly on a random corner of the table, making her look entirely lost in thought. A glass of water sat on the table, completely full, with fine beads of condensation covering the sides—a clear sign she hadn't taken a single sip.

It was obvious Leilani had been waiting for him at his place, though he had no idea for how long.

Callahan paused mid-step. For some inexplicable reason, his heart clenched, and a wave of panic washed over him.