The day dragged itself into a reluctant dusk, drawing long shadows across the Richard estate. As the golden light faded into a smoky twilight, the familiar rumble of Mike Richard’s custom black SUV rolled up the driveway.

A maid opened the door, bowing slightly, but Mike didn’t acknowledge her. Not even a glance. He stepped inside, his suit crisp, his tie loosened just enough to hint at exhaustion—but there was something else simmering beneath his cold exterior.

His mother’s voice came soft from the lounge, “Welcome home, darling.”

He didn’t respond.

He walked upstairs, his movements purposeful, his mind restless.

He reached Cynthia’s door without pause and knocked once, twice,...