Cynthia barely made it back to the mansion before the night collapsed into total darkness. The cab dropped her at the side gate, where she entered silently, her heart slamming against her ribs. She didn’t stop moving until the heavy door clicked shut behind her.
Her heels were off, her trench coat folded over one arm, her lips trembling. The weight of Collins’ embrace still clung to her like smoke, guilt, and shame mingling like poison in her lungs.
She stepped into the hallway, only to freeze.
Mike stood at the end, his arms crossed, shirt sleeves rolled up, his expression unreadable. Cynthia’s blood ran cold.
“I thought I told you not to leave this house without my permission,” he said quietly.
She swallowed. “I—I just needed fresh air.”
He stepped closer, his jaw tightening. “Fre
