Chapter 4

I didn't turn around.

My hand remained firmly on the door handle, and my fingertips remained perfectly steady. The sound of rapid footsteps approached from behind. Michael's leather shoes clicked wildly against the concrete pavement, entirely out of sync with his usual rhythm.

Michael always walked with a slow, composed grace, projecting an aura of absolute control.

"Honey, you..." he began.

His voice drew closer, still attempting to maintain that signature breezy charm. "Why aren't you answering your phone? The housekeeper mentioned you were packing up, so I figured..."

He abruptly cut himself off.

I knew he spotted the car,…