VANESSA
By the time I reach the house, my feet ache, my shoulders are tense, and my mind is still a storm of unease. But all of that fades into the background the moment I step onto the driveway.
My breath catches.
Security.
Just like Richard said he would.
Men in dark tactical gear surround the property, standing near the gates, by the hedges, at the front door. A few patrol along the perimeter, their sharp eyes scanning the surroundings.
Jesus.
I swallow hard. This isn’t just security—it’s a goddamn fortress.
The moment I step closer, one of the men notices me and gives a small nod before speaking into his earpiece. Within seconds, the front door swings open.
Richard stands there, one hand on the doorframe, the other gripping a tumbler of whiskey. He doesn’t say anything at firs
