Emily followed me into the dimly lit room without hesitation, her steps quick and determined. The moment the door clicked shut behind us, she turned to face me, her eyes wide and searching. "Tell me where my husband is," she demanded, her voice trembling but firm.
"What happened to my dad? Where is he?" Her hands gripped the edges of her sleeves, as if bracing herself for an answer she wasn't sure she could handle.
I studied her for a moment—the raw fear in her eyes, the way her breath hitched as she waited. It struck me then: she had no idea what was happening outside these walls. She'd been kept in the dark, shielded from the chaos unfolding beyond the villa. The realization settled heavily in my chest. How much should I tell her? How much could she handle?
