Xavier’s heart was pounding, and his footsteps thundered as he descended the stairs. The scene before him was a twisted tableau: Avery’s arm was outstretched, her gun aimed directly at Cathleen, his wife, but Cathleen stood firm, unflinching, like stone.

"Aaa, right on time, babe," Avery cooed, her gaze sickly sweet upon Xavier. "I wanted you to watch when I shot her; she is the wall blocking our love from blooming."

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his hands lifting in a gesture of surrender. "Avery, you must have forgotten; I am Cathleen's husband, not yours." His voice was ice, calmness belying the chaos.

"Always playing saint, aren't we?" Avery's...