A Few Days Later
Annabelle sat on the edge of her bed, legs drawn up, the early morning light spilling across the polished floor in a pale wash. The Barton mansion felt quieter than usual—a strange, hollow quiet. Britney’s absence should have made it easier to breathe, but instead, it left an odd heaviness hanging in the air.
Richard hadn’t been home in days.
Marc had only sent a curt message: He’s tied up with something important. No details. No reassurance. Just the sort of vagueness that gnawed at her patience.
She tried—God, she tried—not to think about him, but the harder she fought it, the more her thoughts strayed to the sound of his voice, the way it had shifted the other day, laced with that reluctant thread of concern. And the more she thought about him, the more it clashed w
