Chapter 7 - The Confrontation
I walked out of the kitchen and into the grand foyer. I didn't hide my footsteps anymore. The heavy tread of my shoes echoed off the limestone floor.
From the top of the stairs, a door opened. Evelyn appeared at the railing, wearing a silk robe, a glass of wine in her hand. When her eyes fell upon me, her face underwent a terrifying transformation—from relaxed comfort to sheer, unadulterated shock, and then, instantly, into the practiced, radiant smile I had loved for a year.
"Arthur!" she exclaimed, rushing down the stairs, her robe trailing behind her. "Darling, what happened? Was your flight canceled? Why didn't you call me?"
She reached the bottom step and threw her arms around my neck. For the first time, her touch made my skin crawl. I stood rigid, my arms flat at my sides.
"The flight wasn't canceled, Evelyn," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "There never was a flight."
She pulled back, her smile faltering slightly, her eyes scanning my cold expression. "What do you mean? You said you had the logistics summit in London."
"I lied," I said, walking past her into the living room. "I wanted to see what happens in my house when the master is away. I wanted to see the woman I was going to marry."
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Evelyn followed me, her tone instantly dropping its warmth, her eyes narrowing. "Arthur, you're acting incredibly strange. Have you been drinking? If this is some sort of juvenile trust test—"
"I watched the feed, Evelyn," I interrupted, turning to face her. "I watched you tell my daughters they were baggage. I watched you threaten Martha Gable with prison for the money you stole from my late wife’s charity foundation."
