WARNING: This chapter is unhinged just like Carlos behavior. Read at your own risk.
The night in the Thompson estate was heavy and silent. In the chambers of the second son, Ashlyn had been waiting for hours, her anxiety a cold, coiling knot in her stomach. The disastrous homecoming had ended with her returning to the estate alone, her pride in tatters, her new marriage already a bitter, humiliating failure.
She had dismissed her maid, bathed, and changed into her finest silk nightgown—a sheer, pale lavender creation designed to entice, not to comfort. But the man it was intended for was not there. The clock on the mantelpiece chimed, the sound unnaturally loud, striking eleven. With every tick, her fear and desperation grew. She had to fix this. Her entire future, her escape from her past life's fate, depended on her ability to manage this man.
The door latch clicked.
