The house was completely silent by 1:00 AM.

Clara sat in her darkened home office on the second floor, the only illumination coming from the soft, clinical glow of her laptop screen. Down the hall, in the master bedroom, Julian was dead to the world, knocked out by a combination of his third glass

Clara slipped into the guest room, closing the door until only a millimeter-thin crack remained. The house was enveloped in a suffocating silence, but the air felt charged, vibrating with the catastrophic energy of a detonated bomb.

She walked over to the small writing desk by the window and quiet

The morning sun bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the kitchen, casting long, harsh shadows across the white marble island.

Clara stood by the espresso machine, wearing an oversized cashmere sweater and a pair of loose linen trousers. She had foregone makeup entirely, allowing the natura