The rhythm of their days had grown sharp with an unspoken game. Every hour seemed to contain two versions of reality: the surface version that everyone else saw—husband and wife in a polished household—and the shadow version where Arielle moved with careful calculation, and Kairo watched with silent precision.
Arielle had learned to mark time differently. Meals were not just meals, but tests of patience. Walks through the garden were not just for air, but chances to probe the edges of her leash. Every polite exchange with Kairo’s staff became a thread she could tug at, one that might lead to an unraveling.
For weeks, her attempts had been subtle. She asked fewer questions, said less in conversations, and smiled in ways that concealed rather than revealed. But her silence was not passive—
