After tossing and turning for hours, I made a silent vow: I would find out who this woman was.
A few days flew by, and I finally got my chance.
After several days of normal routines, York told me once again that he had to work late. In the past, I would have thought nothing of it—it was just work. But since I had seen his phone, I couldn’t shake the feeling that these late nights were becoming something else entirely.
So, one evening, I hired a car and waited outside York’s office building.
As expected, right after quitting time, his car pulled out of the underground garage, almost as if he was racing against the clock.
My heart ached again. I instructed the driver to follow him.
Fifteen minutes later, his car stopped in front of a nondescript hotel. York hurried inside, practically running.
I was consumed by curiosity. Who is this woman, the one who makes him rush out of work so eagerly?
With a sympathetic glance from the driver, I paid and got out. By the time I made it inside, York was nowhere to be seen.
I approached the hotel front desk, steeling myself to ask the young receptionist which room the man in the gray coat had gone to.