That morning, the sweet fragrance of roses filled the dining room. Deviana stood frozen in front of the table, staring at the large bouquet that had just been delivered. A golden ribbon was neatly tied around the stems, and a small card was tucked between them.

> To my most precious wife. I’m sorry if I’ve often made you worry. —Adrian

Deviana brushed her fingers across the petals, feeling their softness at her fingertips. But instead of being touched, her chest tightened with a strange sensation—an uneasiness she couldn’t explain. Adrian rarely did things like this. And now, suddenly, he was being overly sweet.

“Good morning.” Adrian’s voice came from...