“Always,” he replied, leaning in to press a lingering kiss against my forehead. “I just need your signature on the bottom of page seven, and initials on page nine.”
My hand trembled slightly as I took the pen. The ink flowed dark and permanent across the dotted line. As I handed the papers back, I missed the subtle, predatory glint that flashed in his dark eyes—the look of a starving wolf staring at a tethered lamb.
The exhaustion of carrying the baby soon pulled me into a deep, dreamless sleep. But hours later, a strange, rhythmic sound woke me. It wasn’t the wind. It was a voice.
I shuffled clumsily out of bed, the floorboards freezing against my bare feet, and crept toward the hallway. The door to Carter’s home office was slightly ajar, a sliver of yellow light spilling onto the rug.
“It’s done,” Carter was murmuring into his phone. All the warm velvet was gone from his voice, replaced by a hollow, metallic coldness that made the hair on my arms stand up. “She signed it. Every single page.”
A pause. Then, a dark, breathless chuckle.
“I know,” he whispered. “Soon, Sienna, we’ll have more money than we ever dreamed of. The debt will be wiped out, and we’ll be free. Just make sure the flight to Switzerland is booked for the end of the month.”
My breath hitched. Sienna? My husband’s supposedly platonic, overly-perfumed real estate partner? My mind violently tried to reject the words, but the sheer callousness of his tone pinned me to the spot. I clutched my stomach, a wave of nausea washing over me.
Before I could move, Carter hung up. He turned toward the partially open door, his face caught in the pale glow of his monitor. He didn’t see me in the shadows, but he stared right at the space where I stood.
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