James' penthouse apartment was still, with the occasional muffled hum of traffic far down below. The stillness wasn't comforting—it was deliberate. An apartment like this didn't just keep things quiet. It buried them.
I knew that better than anyone.
Victor was gone. James hadn’t spoken much, but the suggestion was obvious. He knew something. And if I were to have any hope of getting some answers, I would have to go and get them myself.
It was all too much to wrap my head around. Was James a murderer too? What had I gotten myself into by marrying him?
I crept quietly, gliding across the very well-groomed marble floor, my heart beating in rhythm with the click of my heels. The door of the study was partially ajar, a shard of darkness oozing onto the floor.
James was downstairs at the me
