I knew I should turn around.
My bare feet made no sound against the hardwood floors as I moved down the hallway, the hem of my nightgown brushing my thighs. Behind me, Jason slept like the husband he had become—absent, careless, disconnected. Ahead of me was something far worse.
Or maybe far better.
The door to the library was already cracked open.
The smell of aged paper and whiskey drifted into the hall, and my heart beat faster with every step. My fingers trembled as I pushed the door open.
Richard was standing by the fireplace.
A glass of scotch in his hand, his eyes already on me. Watching. Always watching.
He said nothing.
He didn’t have to.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, softly.
The click of the lock sounded like the strike of a match.
He turned toward me
