Vivienne's eyes tracked the antique clock on the study wall. 7:45 PM. The second hand ticked forward with the sound of tiny hammers against her skull.
Isaiah was late.
Not just fashionably late. Not stuck in traffic late. Late late.
She checked her phone for the seventeenth time in the past ten minutes. No messages. No calls. No explanation.
"He's dead," Cassidy announced from her position pacing the carpet, wearing a path between the desk and the bookshelf. "He got into an accident. The Lexus is wrapped around a tree somewhere on I-95."
"He's not dead," Vivienne said automatically, though her stomach twisted at the image. Her finger hovered over Isaiah's contact. Should she call? Would that seem too desperate?
"What if he needs help?" Harlow's voice came out small from where she sat curled on the sofa, her twin tails drooping. "What if he's hurt somewhere and can't reach his phone?"
