ARTHUR
The same men that took Stella out of the meeting, stood in front of the mansion like statues. I stepped out of the car before the engine had even died.
“Arthur…” Stiles started.
I ignored him. The gravel crunched beneath my boots as I walked toward the gate. Two guards stepped forward immediately.
“Sir, you can’t…”
The other men's gaze stayed on mine, like they recognized me.
“Open it,” I said.
They exchanged a look.
“Mr. James isn’t receiving guests tonight.”
My jaw tightened.
“I’m not a guest.”
Stiles jogged up behind me, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. “Relax, gentlemen,” he said casually. “We’re just here to check something.”
The guards didn’t move.
I pulled my phone out again and dialed Stella’s number.
It rang and rang. Then voicemail.
My thumb hovered over
