The mansion felt unnervingly quiet without Richard. Annabelle told herself she liked it that way — no heavy footsteps echoing down the hall, no sharp voice calling her name as if summoning an employee. And yet, every morning, something seemed… off.
She was pouring coffee in the kitchen when her hand automatically reached for a second cup. Half-filled, she froze, staring at it as if it had betrayed her. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered, quickly tipping it into the sink.
His cologne still lingered faintly on a jacket draped over the back of a chair in the study. She tried not to notice. Tried not to remember the way his presence seemed to fill every room. Even his empty chair at breakfast felt like it was silently mocking her.
“Why on earth would I miss that arrogant man?” she whispe
