“Cynthia! For God’s sake, talk to me! What the hell happened last night? I heard you screaming—I heard everything!”

Ryan’s voice tore through the speaker, laced with raw panic, anger, and confusion. His tone wasn’t just demanding—it was pleading, desperate for answers his mind couldn’t settle with.

Cynthia sat on the edge of the massive bed, her legs drawn to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them. Her body trembled beneath the silk robe she had thrown on that morning, the one that barely covered the bruises. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, puffy from the hours she had spent crying silently while Mike slept beside her, oblivious. Or...