The television in the living room was on. A local news segment showed a photo of him at the airport—tired, rumpled, caught at the worst angle—under a headline suggesting he was “unstable” and “a risk.”
Vanessa appeared on-screen, dressed in white, eyes glossy, voice soft, playing the perfect worried wife. Adrian’s stomach turned.
Behind him, heels clicked on the floor. Vanessa stepped into the room holding a champagne flute, even though the morning was barely awake. “I warned you,” she said lightly.
“No one believes a man once they’ve been told he’s unwell.”
Adrian turned slowly. “Where’s Hannah?”
Vanessa’s smile widened. “Upstairs.
Enjoy your last moments.” She sipped her drink. “I made an anonymous call. If you take her, it looks like you’re fleeing.
If you stay, they’ll treat you like a threat. Checkmate, darling.”
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