Chapter 2 - Shadows in the Estate
The ride back to the estate was silent, save for the rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers cutting through the gathering rain. My husband sat on the far side of the leather seat, staring straight ahead through the glass partition, his fingers drumming a restless, furious tattoo against his knee. Every muscle in my body remained coiled in defense as the car turned through the wrought-iron security gates and wound its way up the long, tree-lined drive toward the imposing stone facade of our home.
When the car stopped, my husband didn't wait for the driver. He opened his own door, stepped out into the drizzle, and pulled my door open with a sharp jerk of his arm. "Inside. Now," he commanded, his voice devoid of any warmth or pretense.
I walked up the grand stone steps ahead of him, my heels clicking hollowly against the porch. Once inside the foyer, he pointed a finger toward the sweeping staircase that led to our private master suite upstairs. "You will stay in your room until further notice. I have a press luncheon tomorrow, and the last thing I need is for anyone to see your face swollen from crying like a child. Do you understand me?"
"I understand," I murmured, keeping my gaze lowered to avoid giving him the satisfaction of seeing the rebellion burning beneath my submission.
I retreated to the quiet sanctuary of the bedroom, locking the heavy mahogany door behind me. I sank onto the edge of the velvet armchair, trembling as the adrenaline finally began to drain from my system, leaving a hollow ache in my lower back. I reached down to touch my stomach, whispering quiet reassurances to the baby, promising that we wouldn't live like prisoners forever.
An hour later, a soft knock tapped against the private sitting room door. Fearing it was my husband returning to continue his interrogation, I stood up and pulled the door open a fraction of an inch. To my astonishment, it wasn't him. Standing in the dimly lit hallway was the blonde woman from the gala, still wearing her red strapless dress, though her capelet was draped over one arm and her gold clutch was held loosely in her hand.
"You?" I whispered, glancing anxiously down the corridor. "How did you get up here?"
"Your husband's security detail is remarkably predictable if you know which guards take bribes," she said smoothly, stepping past me into the room without waiting for an invitation. She set her gold clutch on the marble-topped coffee table and opened it, pulling out a small, metallic flash drive and laying it beside a heavy brass paperweight. "My name is Evelyn. And before you ask why I'm here, let's just say I've watched your husband destroy too many people from behind that polite smile of his. I think it's time someone handed you the keys to your own escape."
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