Nayla didn’t sleep that night. Her mind kept spinning without direction, like a compass that had lost its north.
The phone remained lit in her hand. The world might’ve been celebrating Nathan’s downfall, but inside her bloomed a strange kind of emptiness. As if vengeance had arrived too fast, too harsh, and far too quiet.
“Nayla.”
The voice from behind the door was barely audible. Soft enough to be mistaken as a thought. But the stillness in the room allowed her to hear it clearly. Her lips, however, refused to move in response.
The guest room door was locked. But of course, that meant nothing to the owner of the house.
Without hesitation, the man turned the handle. And sure enough, the door opened. Not every lock could resist him. Some, perhaps, had already chosen to surrender.
In D
