calm.
Let him talk.
Do not drink.
Keep your phone recording only where lawful.
Do not sleep beside him if you feel unsafe.
Adrian stepped into the kitchen smelling faintly of rain, expensive cologne, and the citrus shampoo Elise always used. His tie was loosened. His hair was damp. He looked handsome in the careless way that had once made strangers smile at me, as if I had won something.
“Long day,” he said.
I poured hot water over tea leaves because my hands needed something to do. “Denver was brutal?”
“You have no idea.” He dropped his keys into the ceramic bowl by the door. “Harrow made us sit through a four-hour investor deck. Four hours, Mara.”
Inside my robe pocket, my phone recorded.
I carried my tea to the island and sat. “Tell me everything.”
Adrian smiled, relieved by my attention. He described a hotel lobby with green marble. A steakhouse near the convention center. An investor named Paul with a silver beard and a terrible handshake. A delayed flight. A driver who took the wrong exit. Details, details, details. He built the lie carefully because he believed I was admiring the architecture instead of marking the exits.
“So the board loved the proposal?” I asked.
“They did.” He loosened his cuffs. “Honestly, this promotion is almost certain now. Once it’s official, everything changes for us.”
Everything changes.
I wrapped both hands around the mug.
“That sounds wonderful.”
He reached across the counter and squeezed my hand. His wedding ring touched my skin.
For one second, memory betrayed me. I saw him younger, nervous in a jewelry shop, turning a plain gold band over in his palm. I heard him say, “I don’t want impressive. I want forever.”
Maybe he had meant it then.
Or maybe forever had only meant until something easier opened its door.
“How was St. Alden’s?” he asked.
My heartbeat shifted.
“Fine.”
“Did you sign the final donation paperwork?”
I let my spoon tap the mug. “They said there was already paperwork on file.”
Adrian’s face held steady, but his thumb stopped moving against my knuckle.
“Oh,” he said. “Great. That saves you time.”
“Apparently.”
“St. Alden’s is a good cause.”
“For Lila?”
His smile appeared too quickly. “For children like Lila.”
Then his phone lit up on the counter.
Elise.
Adrian snatched it up before I could see the message.
“Work,” he said.
“At this hour?”
“Different time zone.”
Denver was only one hour behind us.
He disappeared into the guest bathroom to answer. The door clicked shut. His voice dropped, but anger sharpened the edges enough for me to catch fragments.
“No, she’s fine.”
“Not now.”
“I said I handled it.”
I stood very slowly.
The duplicate key to Adrian’s car sat in the ceramic bowl beside the door. I took it without thinking. Barefoot, in my robe, I walked outside into the rain.
His Range Rover blinked open.
The interior smelled like leather and Elise’s perfume.
I checked the glove compartment first. Insurance. Registration. A receipt for premium gasoline. Nothing. Then the center console. A pink hair tie. A child’s granola bar wrapper. A parking pass for St. Alden’s Academy.
Beneath it lay a folded photograph.
I opened it with wet fingers.
Lila stood between Adrian and Elise in front of
