Cynthia’s heart pounded as she followed the maid down the dimly lit hallway. Every step she took felt heavier, her pulse racing with anxiety.
Mike was looking for her.
Did he know?
Had he somehow found out about the call?
She swallowed hard, gripping the fabric of her dress. Maybe it was something else. Maybe she was just overthinking. But deep down, she knew she wasn’t.
The maid stopped in front of a door and gestured. "He's inside."
Cynthia hesitated before pushing the door open.
Mike’s study was dim, the only source of light coming from a small lamp on his desk. He sat in a high-backed chair, his fingers lazily swirling the dark liquid in a glass of whiskey. His suit jacket was draped over the chair, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His expression was unreadable, his eye
