The silence that followed the slamming of the front door was louder than any of Garette’s outbursts. It was a heavy, suffocating thing that filled the corridors of the mansion, mocking the high ceilings and the expensive art. Garette stood at the window, his breath fogging the glass, watching the small, retreating figure of Dianthe until she was nothing more than a speck against the vast, gray Texas horizon.
"She’ll be back," he muttered, his voice sounding hollow in the large kitchen. "She’s halfway to the main road. She’ll realize she has no car, no phone—I have her phone—and she’ll come crawling back."
He picked up the diamond ring on the floor. It felt cold, unnervingly light. He pocketed it, his jaw set in a grim line. He returned to his coffee, but it had gone bitter. He tried to c
