My phone buzzed in my coat pocket.

I pulled it out, expecting a message from my lawyer or perhaps Arthur.

It was a text message from Ethan.

The preview read: *We need to talk tonight. Be home by six.*

I stared at the screen as the wind caught the collar of my coat.

I walked back to my car, my mind already preparing for the confrontation.

When I arrived back at the house, the driveway was empty.

Ethan was at the office.

I spent the afternoon in my study, cataloging the remaining files on my computer.

At exactly five-thirty, I heard the front gate open.

A few minutes later, the front door opened and closed.

I did not go downstairs to meet him.

I waited in the study, sitting behind the mahogany desk.

I heard his footsteps coming up the stairs, heavy and deliberate.

The study door pushed open.

Ethan stood in the doorway, still wearing his suit jacket, but he had removed his tie.

His expression was dark, his jaw clenched tightly.

He closed the door behind him and locked it with a sharp click.