Emily’s hand trembled as she stared at her husband’s message. We need to talk. Now.
Her throat went dry. Every lie, every stolen moment with Adam flashed through her mind like lightning. For a long moment, she didn’t move. Then, she typed back with shaking fingers: I’m on my way.
Downstairs, Mr Johnson sat in the living room with the same calm smile he always wore, but something about his eyes looked colder. He poured himself another glass of wine and gestured for her to sit.
“Rough day?” he asked casually.
Emily forced a small smile. “A bit.”
He studied her quietly. The silence stretched too long. Then he said, “You’ve been distracted lately.”
Her pulse quickened. “Work’s been demanding.”
“Work,” he repeated, swirling his drink. “Yes.
