The morning light poured in through the curtains, soft and golden, bathing the penthouse in a warmth Cynthia couldn’t feel. She sat curled up on the edge of the plush velvet couch, her fingers clutched around a steaming cup of ginger tea, eyes locked on the envelope they’d placed on the coffee table the night before.

She hadn’t slept. Neither had Mike. They’d lain in bed together, hearts racing with the same unanswered question: Who left it? And what comes next?

The silence broke with a sudden, shrill ring from her phone.

Cynthia jumped, nearly spilling her tea. She grabbed the phone off the table, her heart stuttering when she...