Three days after the signing, Ethan sent a message.
Ethan: Clara agreed to move out, but she wants three days to pack up.
I looked at the screen. I didn't reply.
My phone lit up again.
Lydia: Something's off. Clara's been too quiet. Watch yourself.
Shana: I know.
I sat with my phone in my hand. Outside the window, the sky had gone grey.
That afternoon, an unknown number called.
It was Clara.
"Shana." Her voice was thick, on the edge of tears — nothing like the woman who had blocked the doorway that first night. "Could we meet? Just the two of us?"
"There's nothing to talk about."
"I was deceived too. Please — ten minutes. The café near your hotel. Public place."
I went.
Clara was in the corner booth, no makeup, eyes swollen red.
I sat down. I didn't order anything.
"Go ahead
