Once I got home, the unease didn't leave me.
It sat on my shoulders like a wet coat. No matter how warm the house was, I still felt cold inside. Every time I blinked, I saw Whitney's face again those eyes full of panic, like she was living beside something that could snap at any moment.
She didn't look like a woman in love.
She looked like someone trying to survive.
Something about that whole house felt off. Too quiet. Too controlled. Like everyone inside was trained to move only when permitted.
"Still thinking about Whitney?" Lewis asked.
He waved a hand in front of my face, gentle but firm, pulling me back. I turned and met his eyes.
"Yeah," I admitted.
Lewis's expression stayed calm, but the air around him shifted subtle, like a warning that didn't need words.
"Whitney has nothing to do with you," he said. "And in circles like theirs, it's common for powerful men to keep women in the shadows. If you try to fix every situation you see, it'll swallow you."
