The car ride felt like an eternity as I stared at the ceiling tiles.

I counted the tiny gray dots on the plaster to keep my mind from spiraling into panic.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a wild, trapped bird.

Suddenly, the sound of the engine died.

The car doors opened with a heavy, metallic thud, followed by the wet slap of shoes on wet pavement.

“Stay behind me, Marco,” Luke muttered.

I heard the chime of an elevator, then the smooth, rising hum of the lift ascending.

My grip on Nadia’s hand tightened until my knuckles turned white.

The elevator bell dinged.

The air through the phone speaker changed, growing wider, echoing in a large, open space.

“Vivian!” Luke called out.

His voice bounced off hard surfaces—likely the marble floors of her expensive foyer.

There was no answer, only the faint, rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock.

“Check the terrace,” Luke told Marco.

I heard footsteps moving away, then the creak of a heavy glass door sliding open.

“You shouldn’t have come here, Luke.”

Vivian’s voice was sharp, cutting through the silence of the penthouse like a razor.