“There is no upstairs for you tonight.”
His jaw tightened. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
I smiled. “Not yet.”
Patricia laughed, loud and cruel, and dragged him toward the hall. “Come on, darling. Let her have her little tantrum.”
They left through the front door with Patricia muttering about lawyers, divorce, and what Daniel deserved.
At 2:13 a.m., I changed the locks.
At 7:04, Patricia returned with her key.
It didn’t turn.
I watched her through the security camera as she shook the handle, furious, wrapped in mink and entitlement.
She looked straight at the lens.
Continue on the next page:
