He had recorded every single meal I had prepared, every secret I thought I had kept.

I stood up from the leather chair, my knees nearly buckling beneath me.

The air in the office felt thick, almost impossible to breathe.

I had to get out of this room.

I carefully closed the folder, locked the laptop screen, and left the office exactly as I had found it.

I stepped back into the dark hallway.

The silence of the house was different now.

It was no longer peaceful; it was predatory.

Every shadow felt like an eye watching me.

I crept down the stairs, my bare feet pressing against the cold hardwood.

I avoided the squeaky step near the landing, a habit I had formed over years of trying not to disturb Julian.

When I reached the kitchen, the moonlight was streaming through the high windows, casting long, silver bars across the stainless-steel countertops.

The kitchen looked like a stage set.

Everything was in its perfect, designated place.

I walked slowly toward the pantry.

The heavy, industrial refrigerator sat next to the pantry door, its low compressor hum vibrating through the floor.