Chapter 4

The office smelled of leather and antiseptic, a combination that made my stomach turn. Dr. Patricia Webb sat across from me, her silver-rimmed glasses catching the light as she reviewed the folder Marcellus had provided. Her smile didn't reach her eyes.

"Mrs. Oliver," she said, her voice carrying that practiced calm of someone accustomed to evaluating broken minds. "Your husband is concerned about your mental health."

I shifted in the uncomfortable chair, my hands trembling slightly. "I'm fine. It's Marcellus who—"

"Who what?" she prompted when I fell silent.

The door opened, and Ana glided in with a tray. "I…