Chapter 2
"Elena?" he called, putting just enough exhaustion into his voice. "I'm home. The flight was brutal." Nothing answered. Not a baby. Not footsteps. Not the soft clatter of Elena moving through the kitchen. The house was freezing. He stopped in the foyer, breath fogging in front of him. The air smelled wrong. No cinnamon candle. No coffee. No baby lotion. Just lemon disinfectant and cold wood.
He walked into the living room and froze. The twelve-foot Christmas tree still stood by the window, stripped bare. No lights. No velvet ribbon. No antique glass ornaments passed down through five generations of Blackwoods. Only branches. Only needles scattered across the hardwood like evidence.
He dropped his briefcase and ran upstairs. "Harrison!" The nursery door swung open under his hand. The crib was there, but the mattress was naked. The planet mobile was gone. The rocking chair was gone. No diapers, no wipes, no stuffed elephant, no trace of his son except four tiny screw holes in the ceiling.
He rushed to the master bedroom. His side of the closet remained untouched. Elena's side was empty, not messy, not rushed, empty with intention. The velvet hangers were gone. Her jewelry safe stood open and hollow.
He called her. Straight to voicemail. Again. Voicemail. Then he opened their last messages. Three hours earlier he'd texted, Landed safely. Can't wait to see you and Harry. She'd replied, Safe travels. We're waiting. Two words that didn't sound loving anymore. They sounded like a trap.
May you like
He went downstairs faster now, needing his office, needing a drink, needing one corner of the house that still belonged to him. But when he stepped inside, he saw it. A thick cream envelope sat perfectly centered on his mahogany desk. On top of it lay the diamond tennis bracelet he had hidden for Elena's Christmas gift.
Julian stopped breathing.
