It was the third day after the dinner party.
I sat in my office on the 30th floor of Emerson Group, holding a freshly brewed black coffee.
My phone screen suddenly lit up, and a series of alerts popped up.
The alerts came from a smart home app I hadn't used in a long time.
The apartment Asher and I had shared for three years still had two weeks left on the lease.
I could still see the real‑time surveillance footage from the apartment.
On the screen, the once warm and tidy living room was now in complete disarray.
Aria was crouching in front of the safe, frantically stuffing Asher's expensive watches, car keys, and a stack of cash into her Hermès bag.
Asher pushed open the door, reeking of alcohol, his face unshaven, irritable and defeated.
Seeing this, he was fuming. He rushed for
