My husband had been 𝕕𝕣𝕦𝕘𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 me every night… One day, I pretended to swallow the pill and lay still, fully awake. I watched him leave the bedroom at 2 a.m. I followed him downstairs, and what I saw there left me completely frozen…

My stomach twisted. “He’s still trying to shape the narrative.”

“That is his pattern,” Harper said. “But he cannot reach you. Not physically.”

I wished that comforted me. The next morning, an envelope lay on the floor inside my sister’s front door. My name written in familiar handwriting.

My heartbeat stuttered. Lucienne froze when she saw my face.

Inside was one line. You can change your address, but I know every choice you make.

No signature.

Harper arrived within minutes. He handled the letter with gloves. He photographed it. He sealed it in an evidence bag.

“He had no legal way to contact you,” he said. “But he may have convinced someone to deliver this. He has influence. People like him often do.”

That night, fear kept me awake. I lay on the couch listening to the house settle. Every noise felt heavy, sharp, too close.

Just after three in the morning, I stepped onto the balcony for air. The street was still. Too still.

The same black sedan was parked across from the house.

My breath caught. I stood frozen. The driver’s door opened. A man stepped out. Tall. Hooded. He did not look directly at me, but he lingered too long beside the car.