Chapter 4

A torrential rainstorm battered the windows all night. The estate's air conditioning was blasting, turning the room into a freezer.

The searing agony in my knees slowly morphed into a dead, heavy numbness.

At 7:00 AM, the doors to the master bedroom finally opened.

Arthur walked down the stairs, casually adjusting his tie. Vivian was nestled against his side, a pristine white bandage wrapped around her head.

Seeing me still kneeling rigidly in the center of the living room, Arthur's footsteps faltered. A complex emotion flickered in his eyes, but it was instantly buried under a layer of ice.

He stopped in front of me.

"Still stubborn."

He looked down his nose at me. "Grovel at Vivian's feet right now. Admit you pushed her, and I might let you stand."

Vivian leaned into his chest, her voice dripping with calculated fragility. "Arthur, don't. I'm sure she didn't mean it. My head hurts, but I don't want to ruin your marriage..."

"What kind of wife is she?" Arthur cut her off, his eyes boring into mine. "Speak. Do you confess?"

I slowly raised my head. The eyes that used to look at him with nothing but overflowing love were now completely empty. No anger. No grievance. Just dead, silent ash.

"I confess."

Arthur flinched.

He clearly hadn't expected me to bow my head so easily. My hollow submission seemed to make his chest tighten inexplicably.

"Since you've confessed, get back to your room and reflect on what you've done."

He yanked at his tie, suddenly looking irritable, as if he couldn't bear to look at me a second longer. He wrapped his arm around Vivian and strode out the front doors.

As the Maybach convoy disappeared down the driveway, I braced my trembling hands against the sofa and dragged my numb, agonizingly stiff legs up from the floor.

Did you really think I was submitting to you, Arthur?

I was just waiting for you to leave.

At 2:50 PM.

I changed into a lightweight black trench coat and packed my ID and passport into a small backpack.

I didn't take a single thing from the estate. Not the priceless jewelry, not the designer clothes, not a single gift Arthur had ever given me.

Carrying a black USB drive, I walked into Arthur's second-floor study.

I plugged the drive into the tablet on his desk, opened a video file, and set it to loop. Then, I slid the wedding band off my ring finger—the ring I had worn for three years—and pressed it gently onto the edge of the tablet.

When it was done, I checked my watch.

2:59 PM.

I turned and walked out of the study, expertly weaving past the two security cameras in the hallway, heading straight for the rear gardens.

3:00 PM.

The estate's security system let out a faint beep. The red recording lights on every camera instantly blinked out.

—Every day at 3:00 PM, the system rebooted for exactly one minute.

I used that perfect sixty seconds to slip through the camera blind spot by the abandoned fountain and push open the rusted iron gate at the back of the property.

Outside, a pre-arranged black sedan was idling quietly in the shade of the trees.

I opened the door and slid into the backseat. "To the airport."

...

At 7:00 PM.

Arthur pushed open the doors to the Long Island estate.

For some reason, he had been entirely distracted during his board meetings today. His mind kept flashing back to the image of Veronica kneeling on the floor that morning, looking at him with those dead, hollow eyes as she said, I confess.

It was the look you gave a corpse.

It filled him with an unprecedented, violent panic.

"Arthur, you're back!" Vivian lunged forward to loop her arm through his.

Arthur sidestepped her touch. His brows knitted together as his eyes swept the grand foyer.

"Where's Veronica?"