The city had a way of swallowing chaos whole, spitting out something that looked like order.

Three days had passed since the cabin—since the fire, since Adrian’s hands on her skin, since the way he had looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Lila stood in the kitchen of their penthouse, sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting everything in gold. She sipped her coffee, the bitterness grounding her. The steam curled like the smoke from the cabin’s ruins, a ghost she couldn’t shake.

Adrian moved behind her, his fingers brushing the nape of her neck before pressing a kiss there. “Morning,” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep.

She leaned into him, just for a second, before forcing herself to pull away. “You’re late.”

He smirked, straightening his tie. “Worth it.”

The words were a blade twisted in her ribs. Because last night, he had whispered the same thing against her thigh before dragging his tongue over her clit. 

The past few days had been… normal. Too normal. After the fire, after the cabin, after the way he had claimed her body and soul in that shower—she had expected something. A shift. A crack in the facade. But Adrian had slipped back into routine effortlessly, as if the storm between them had never happened.

As if he hadn’t carried her out of a burning wreckage like a man possessed.

The door clicked shut behind him, and Lila exhaled, setting her coffee down with a shaky hand.

Maybe you’re imagining things.

Maybe.

But then—

A sharp thud at the door.

Lila froze.

Mail.

She hadn’t heard the mail carrier come by in weeks—Adrian always handled it, tossing bills onto the counter, shredding anything else without a second glance.

Curious, she padded to the door and bent to retrieve the single envelope lying on the mat.

No return address.

Just her name, scrawled in jagged, uneven letters—as if written in a hurry.

Or in anger.

Her pulse spiked.

She tore it open.

And the world stopped.

Photographs.

Adrian.

And her.

Chloe.

Her dead friendl.

Lila’s breath came in short, ragged bursts as she flipped through them, her fingers trembling. Adrian, his hand tangled in Chloe’s honey-blonde hair. Adrian, pressing her against a wall, his mouth on her throat. Adrian, his eyes dark with desire—the same way he looked at her.

And the last one—

A date.

The night before Chloe died.

A choked sound escaped Lila’s throat.

No.

No, no, no—

Because if he was with her that night—

Then his alibi was a lie.

And if his alibi was a lie—

Her knees gave out.

The photos scattered across the floor, but one remained clutched in her hand. Adrian, his lips curled in a smirk, his fingers wrapped around Chloe’s wrist.

Possessive.

Familiar.

Just like he was with her.

A sob tore from her chest.

He lied.

He lied about everything.

And then—

A creak.

The front door…