My heart skipped a beat. A cold spike of adrenaline shot through my veins. This was a secure estate. The doors were never left open. I instinctively reached into my coat, my mind racing through terrifying scenarios—a break-in, a home invasion, an emergency.
I stepped silently onto the marble floor of the grand foyer.
The house wasn’t silent. There was a voice. A sharp, venomous, shrieking voice echoing from the west wing corridor, near my mother’s suite.
It was Chloe.
I froze. I had never heard my wife raise her voice above a measured, elegant volume. But right now, she sounded unrecognizable. The tone was dripping with absolute disgust and unchecked malice.
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