A folded napkin slipped into her tray at breakfast.
Neat handwriting. Two words:
**Michael asked.**
Sylvia's breath caught.
She looked up sharply, scanning the room. Only the new housekeeper met her gaze—brief, nervous, then gone.
Later that afternoon, under the guise of a doctor's appointment, she walked alone for the first time in weeks.
Outside, the world still spun.
She met Michael at a crowded café downtown, where surveillance looked like background noise.
He stood as she approached, relief blooming across his face.
“Sylvia," he said. “God, I thought—"
“I'm fine," she cut in quickly, sitting down. “I just have a few minutes."
He blinked. “Okay. Sure. I just… I needed to see you. I didn't believe what people were saying."
“What are they saying?"
“That you dropped out for a
