He walked over to the desk and leaned his hands on the polished wood, looking down at me.

“I know what you’ve been doing, Clara,” he said.

I did not flinch.

I leaned back in the leather chair, keeping my hands flat on the desk.

The wood felt cool against my palms.

“You should close the door more quietly next time,” I said.

Ethan did not move.

His eyes were bloodshot, and I could smell the faint scent of whiskey on his breath.

“I’m not playing games with you, Clara,” he said.

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

He threw it onto the mahogany desk.

It landed between us, white and sharp against the dark wood.

“What is this?” I asked.

“It is a settlement agreement,” Ethan said.

“It is very generous, considering the circumstances.”

I did not touch the paper.

“And what are the circumstances, Ethan?”

He let out a short, dry laugh and walked toward the window.

The gray twilight was fading outside, casting long shadows across the Persian rug.