"Jessica Harding," he growled, his voice vibrating with menace. "You'd better pray she's okay. If you hurt her, I will destroy you."
Without another word, he scooped Charlotte Matthews into his arms and strode out.
The room plunged back into silence.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the chaotic mess he'd left behind. Minutes bled into each other. I didn't move. Couldn't. Not until the sharp trill of an alarm clock shattered the quiet.
A glance at the nightstand. A reminder I had set days ago.
*Right.* Today was our third wedding anniversary.
Walter Dickerson had promised me an unforgettable holiday.
A bitter smile touched my lips. *Well. These past few days have been like a fever dream. How could that not count as unforgettable?*
Packing didn't take long. I had very little to my name.
Material things had never mattered much to me. I rarely bought anything for myself. The clothes, bags, and cosmetics cluttering the room were mostly gifts from Walter. Now that I knew the filth behind his generosity, they might as well have been garbage.
Fortunately, I had savings from my working days—enough to relocate and start over with dignity.
After packing, I returned to the bedroom to rest.
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