"I blacked out on every drive home with my brother-in-law and woke up bruised—unaware my husband was giving orders: 'She's unconscious? Good. Bring her to Vanessa, and don't leave marks this time.'"

Outside the frosted glass door, the floorboards groaned beneath my husband’s weight.

"Sofia?" Julian’s voice came again, softer this time, carrying that gentle, rehearsed concern he had used on me for three years. "Marcus said you passed out in the car again. Open the door, sweetheart. Let me look at you."

My fingers tightened around the cool plastic casing of the mini voice recorder. I slipped it into the small, zipped pocket inside my waistband, smoothing my silk camisole over it.

"I'm fine, Julian," I said, forcing my vocal cords to remain steady. "I just... I felt sick to my stomach. Give me a minute."

"You're always sick lately," he sighed, the knob jiggling slightly. "That's why I keep telling you to take those vitamins Marcus brought over. You're working yourself into the ground."

Vitamins. The bottled water. The subtle, bitter aftertaste I had brushed off as electrolytes.

I took a deep, silent breath, letting the icy rage clear the residual fog from my brain. For months, I had doubted my own sanity. I had let Julian convince me that my body was failing, that my memory was slipping, that I was fragile. But hearing his voice on that recording—cool, calculating, ordering his brother not to leave marks—had severed whatever bond of trust had held us together.

I unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Julian stood in the dim hallway, dressed in his tailored trousers and a half-unbuttoned linen shirt. He was thirty-two, handsome in that clean-cut, corporate Texas way that made bank managers and investors trust him instantly. His hazel eyes searched my face, dropping briefly to my neckline before I instinctively pulled my collar higher.

"You look terrible," he murmured, stepping forward to reach for my cheek.

I didn't flinch, though every nerve in my skin screamed at the touch of his fingers. "It happened again, Julian. The exact same thing. I drank the water Marcus gave me, and I vanished for three hours."

Julian’s hand paused on my jaw. A flicker of something cold and sharp crossed his eyes before his expression softened into practiced sympathy. "Sofia, we've talked about this. Marcus bought those water bottles from the corner market. You're having panic attacks or sudden blood sugar drops. You refuse to see a specialist—"

"Who is Vanessa?" I asked cleanly.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

The hum of the central air conditioner seemed to drop an octave. Julian’s thumb stopped moving against my skin. His eyes didn't widen, and his posture didn't break, but the air around him went utterly rigid.

"What did you say?" he asked quietly.

"Vanessa," I repeated, keeping my voice flat, empty of suspicion, playing the confused victim he expected me to be. "Marcus mentioned a Vanessa on his phone while I was waking up. He said she was waiting for something. Is she one of your new investors for the Southlake project?"

Julian stared at me for three long seconds, evaluating my expression, checking if I was trapping him. Slowly, the tension drained from his shoulders, replaced by a smooth, easy smile.

"Ah," he chuckled, stepping past me into the bathroom to pour a glass of tap water. "Vanessa. Yes, she's the lead compliance officer for the regional banking group. She’s been auditing our firm's secondary land acquisitions all week. Marcus was probably talking about dropping off the closing files to her office downtown."

He turned back, handing me the glass of water.

"Drink," he said softly, his eyes locked onto mine. "You need to stay hydrated, Sofia."