ARTHUR
The engine of my car was off, but the heat inside the cabin felt suffocating. I leaned my head back against the leather seat, staring through the windshield at the front gate of Evelyn’s house. It was past midnight. The street was eerily quiet, save for the occasional rustle of the wind through the trees.
I had been sitting here for two hours. Two hours of watching the clock on my dashboard tick away, every minute fueling the slow, burning roar in my chest.
Then, headlights swept across the pavement.
A sleek, silver Mercedes pulled up to the curb. My jaw clenched automatically. Gillian. I watched from the shadows as the car came to a stop. The passenger side door opened, and Evelyn stepped out. Even in the dim light of the streetlamps, she looked breathtaking. She was wearing a
