How the Silent Wife Exposed the Lies of a Powerful Dynasty
The black sedan loomed closer, its grill almost touching my bumper.
In the backseat, Lily stirred, her small head shifting against her travel pillow.
I turned onto the exit ramp for downtown Seattle, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The sedan didn’t follow; it accelerated past, its dark tinted windows hiding the driver’s face.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“We’re safe,” I muttered to myself, steering the SUV into the secure underground parking garage of my apartment building.
The heavy concrete gate rolled down behind us, sealing out the wet night.
I carried Lily up to the quiet, half-empty apartment.
The rooms smelled of fresh paint and lavender wood polish.
I tucked her into the small bed, smoothing her damp hair away from her forehead.
“Are we going back to the big house, Mommy?” she whispered, her eyes half-closed.
“No, sweetie,” I said, kissing her cheek. “We’re staying here now.”
“Good,” she murmured, turning onto her side. “It’s quieter here.”
I closed her door softly and walked into the living room.
The city lights flickered through the rain-streaked floor-to-ceiling windows.