Xavier paced the length of his dim-lit study, each step a silent drumbeat echoing the tumult in his mind. Two full months had passed since that night with Cathleen—his wife, his supposed perfect sub—and now there was nothing but silence. Ridiculous. His fingers ached for his phone again, to try her number just once more, but he knew it was futile. She wasn't picking up; she was gone.

"Fuck!" The word erupted from him as he spun on his heel, whiskey sloshing against the sides of its glass prison. He slammed the drink down onto the rich mahogany on the table and fixed his gaze on the framed photo. Their...