It was past eleven o’çlock in the night, the atmosphere in the sitting room was stagnant, intense with the scent of Richard’s scotch and the biting tension of a man pushed to his limit of alcohol.
Richard stood by the fireplace, his shadow stretched long across the floor. When the front door slammed and Chase’s footsteps echoed in the foyer, Richard didn't turn. He waited until chase drew close enough.
Chase strolled in, tossing his car keys onto a side table. He looked ruffled, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, smelling of a club and a woman’s perfume that definitely didn't belong to Giselle. He stopped dead when he saw his father.
"Still up, Dad? It’s late for a lecture," Chase said, reaching for the decanter.
"Did you find her?" Richard’s voice descended into a low, dangerous rumb
