Smith's POV.

I didn’t move.

I couldn’t.

The screen in front of me buzzed faintly, its cold blue light flickering against my skin. The CCtv guy sat to my left, nervously tapping his pen against a file. I could feel him looking at me out of the corner of his eye, but I didn’t say a word.

My eyes were glued to the footage.

My house. My kitchen. My wife.

And Jeremy.

I watched him walk through my home like he owned it. The sound from the cameras echoed in the room. His damn shoes smacking against my marble tiles. He wasn’t just looking around. He was studying it. Touching...