The house did not breathe the same after that night.
It listened.
Lena felt it in the walls, in the way the chandeliers hummed faintly above marble floors, in the way shadows seemed to pause when she passed. The estate had always been beautiful in a distant, curated way — like a museum of controlled perfection.
Now it felt like a cage built of glass.
Transparent.
Fragile.
Deadly.
She stood in Alex’s private sitting room, the one no staff entered without permission. The curtains were half-drawn. Rain traced the windows in slow, deliberate streaks, blurring the city lights beyond.
Behind her, the door clicked shut.
She didn’t turn.
“You’re angry,” Alex said quietly.
It wasn’t a question.
Lena stared at the rain. “You put a tracker on him.”
Silence.
That silence again.
That car
