The world narrows to the front door.
The sound of a fist on wood.
The amplified voice of the law.
Theo moves first.
His transformation is instantaneous.
The broken, grieving man vanishes.
In his place is the CEO.
Calm.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
"Stay here," he says to me, his voice a low command. "Do not say a word."
He walks out of the hidden room, pulling the secret door shut behind him.
I'm left alone in the shrine, my heart a wild drum in the sudden silence.
I can hear his footsteps on the concrete floor outside.
I hear the front door open.
His voice is smooth as polished glass.
"Evening, officers. Is there a problem?"
I creep to the edge of the secret doorway, pressing my ear against the cool wood.
I can just make out the conversation.
"Sir, we received a call about a disturbance at this address." The officer's voice is deep, professional, and tolerates no bullshit. "Reports of shouting. A possible domestic dispute."
"My sincerest apologies, officers," Theo replies, and his tone is a masterpiece of charming contrition. "That would be my fault. My wife and I… we were having a rather passionate disagreement."
He pauses.
"We're newlyweds. I'm sure you understand how it is. We're still navigating our dynamics."
He's using my language.
Navigating our dynamics.
He's spinning the narrative.
Building the lie.
"We understand, sir," the officer says. "All the same, standard procedure requires us to enter the premises and confirm the well-being of all parties. We need to speak with your wife."
A beat of silence.
"Of course," Theo says, his voice never faltering. "Please, come in."
My blood runs cold.
They're coming inside.
I scramble out of the hidden room, pulling the door shut just as I hear them enter the main living space.
I try to compose myself.
To smooth my hair.
To erase the look of guilt and terror from my face.
Two police officers follow Theo into the room.
They are large, imposing figures in the stark white space.
Their eyes scan everything.
The room.
Theo.
Me.
"Ma'am," the first officer says, his eyes kind but his posture rigid. "I'm Officer Davies. This is Officer Riley. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, officer," I say, my voice a flawless imitation of calm. "My husband and I were simply having a loud discussion. I apologize if we disturbed the neighbors."
"Would it be alright if I spoke with you for a moment?" Officer Davies asks. "Alone?"
It's not a request.
Theo nods, a silent signal for me to comply.
"Of course."
Officer Riley stays with Theo in the living room.
Officer Davies leads me into the cavernous kitchen.
He gestures for me to sit at the huge dining table.
I sit.
He remains standing.
Another power move.
"Dr. Voss," he begins, and the use of my professional title makes my stomach clench.
He knows who I am.
This is not a standard wellness check.
"Can you tell me what the argument was about?" he asks.
"It was a private, marital matter," I say politely. "A disagreement about family issues that got overheated. Nothing more."
"You seem distressed, Ma'am."
"We were discussing a recent family bereavement," I lie, the truth of it making the lie even easier. "It's been an emotional time."
He just nods, his eyes studying my face.
He's looking for cracks.
For tells.
I am a professional at hiding them.
But he is a professional at finding them.
"Dr. Voss," he says, his tone shifting. It becomes more formal. More serious. "We've been made aware that there are some… unusual circumstances surrounding your recent marriage."
The bottom drops out of my stomach.
This isn't about a noise complaint.
This is about something else entirely.
"I'm not sure what you mean, officer," I say, my hands clasped tightly in my lap to keep them from shaking.
"We received an anonymous tip, ma'am," he says, his eyes never leaving mine.
The breath catches in my throat.
Anonymous tip.
The same words Dr. Sharma used.
It can't be.
It's a coincidence.
It has to be.
"A tip about what?" I ask, my voice a strained whisper.
"A tip suggesting that this marriage might be a source of significant distress for both parties," he says, his words careful and precise. "That Mr. Raine has a… history that might make a domestic partnership volatile."
He knows.
He knows Theo was my patient.
He's not saying it.
But he knows.
"And," the officer continues, his voice dropping slightly. "This same source indicated that your own professional board is looking into the matter."
The hook lands.
It's not a coincidence.
It's a coordinated attack.
The same person who contacted the medical board.
The same person who sent the blackmail note.
The same person who knows our deepest secrets.
Called the police.
On us.
They are not just trying to ruin our careers.
They are trying to frame us.
To create a legal record.
A paper trail of instability.
Of domestic abuse.
A narrative that they can control.
A cold, terrifying dread washes over me.
Our enemy isn't just a whisper on the phone anymore.
They are here.
In our lives.
Pulling strings.
And they just sent two uniformed men into our home to be their witnesses.
"I can assure you, officer," I say, my voice miraculously steady. "That I am not in any distress. And my husband is not a violent man."
"I'm glad to hear it," he says, but his eyes say he doesn't believe me.
He believes the tip.
He believes the narrative.
And why wouldn't he?
It's a better story.
The police finally leave.
The silence they leave behind is heavy and toxic.
Theo walks back into the living room, his face pale and drawn.
The charm is gone.
The control is gone.
"What did they say to you?" he asks.
"They were asking about you," I reply. "About your 'history.' Your temper."
"They were asking me about you," he says. "If you were stable. If I felt safe."
He pauses.
"They knew you were my therapist, Elara. They didn't say it, but they knew."
"I know," I whisper. "The person who called them is the same person who contacted the medical board. They're building a case against us."
He runs a hand through his hair, pacing the room like a caged animal.
"This is escalating."
"I know."
We are standing on opposite sides of the room.
Two enemies of an unknown enemy.
Forced into an alliance that feels more dangerous every second.
My phone chimes on the table.
An email notification.
My whole body tenses.
I walk over to it, a sense of impending doom washing over me.
The sender is the State of California Medical Board.
My heart feels like it's going to stop.
With a trembling finger, I open the email.
It's short.
Formal.
And it is a death sentence.
Dear Dr. Voss,
In light of new information received by this board, including a formal report of a domestic disturbance filed with the Los Angeles Police Department, the preliminary review of your case has been officially expedited.
My eyes scan the next line.
The words blur.
I have to read it three times before it sinks in.
Your formal hearing has been scheduled for the following date:
Tuesday, July 29th.
I look at my phone's calendar.
Tuesday.
Next week.
They've moved it up.
The enemy's plan is working.
It's working perfectly.
I have seven days to save my entire life.