The knock came soft but deliberate, echoing through the modest apartment.
Elena swung the door open, her sharp eyes immediately colliding with the tall, immovable figure filling the doorway. Her lips parted in shock.
“Mr. Wolfe,” she breathed, her tone laced with suspicion.
Nicholas didn’t flinch. “Clara. I’m here for Clara.”
For a beat, Elena hesitated, protective instinct flaring. Then, squaring her shoulders, she stepped aside, her chin lifting in quiet defiance. “Fine. Come in. Sit.”
Nicholas entered, his presence consuming the small living room. Everything about him—the immaculate suit, the quiet menace in his posture, the force of his silence—was too sharp, too polished for the humble space. He sat on the edge of the couch, gloved hands clasping together, eyes fixed on the hallw
