Lola tightened her grip on his arm. "Adam? Why are you stopping?"
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Something feels off."
She wrapped her arms around his waist, her voice soft. "Don't worry. I arranged those people. Just a scare tactic to teach your wife a lesson." She looked up at him. "Don't you trust me?"
Adam considered her words. The logic seemed sound. Layla had been out of control lately; perhaps a fright was exactly what she needed.
"You're right," he muttered.
He turned and continued walking.
Neither noticed the tiny red light on the recording pen in Lola's pocket, blinking rhythmically, capturing every word.
That evening, a violent thunderstorm battered the city.
Lightning split the sky. Adam jerked awake, sweat clinging to his forehead.
He looked at the empty space beside him. The anxiety he'd suppressed returned with a vengeance.
His phone buzzed. His assistant.
