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“What are you doing, baby?” I whispered, closing the door.

I checked the small laundry room off the kitchen. The hamper was empty. The washer lid was propped open, the drum gleaming. A stack of folded towels sat on the shelf like they were in a catalog.

The knot in my chest twisted into something sharper.

What in the hell was going on?

There was only one room I couldn’t bring myself to look at.

The nursery.

I walked down the hallway toward our bedroom, my heart thudding harder with each step.

The bedroom door was open.

I stopped in the doorway and gripped the frame, because for a second, I honestly thought my knees might give out.

The bed was made.

Not just pulled up.

Made.

The sheets were crisp. The comforter was smoothed perfectly, no wrinkles, corners aligned. The pillows were fluffed and arranged, decorative shams in front. The edges of the blanket were tucked with military precision. It looked exactly the way I used to make it on Saturdays after I washed the linens. I’d joke that I was resetting our week. He’d joke that I was training for my side gig as a hotel maid.

He never made it like this.

Ever.

The carpet in here had vacuum lines, too. Straight, even. No socks on the floor. No T-shirt tossed on the chair. The nightstand on his side was empty except for his phone charger, coiled neatly.

It didn’t look like a man lived here. It looked like a man was trying very hard not to.

Fear slid icy fingers down my spine.

“Zarek?” I called, even though I knew he wasn’t home. My voice sounded small in the too-tidy space.

No answer of course.

I sat on the edge of the bed very carefully, like I might mess up the lines, and pressed my hands together in my lap.

This wasn’t just fanatical cleaning. I realized this was Zarek’s way of maintaining control over the part of his life that was still under his power.

Was this how he kept from drowning?

A memory flashed—him sitting in that hard plastic chair at the hospital, shoulders hunched, eyes red, hands clasped so tight his knuckles had gone white. The doctor’s voice had been kind and clinical, an awful combination.

Sometimes these things just happen. It’s no one’s fault.

He’d stared at the floor like he could burn a hole through it while I’d cried until I couldn’t see straight.

Now, here, there were no tears. Just a house cleaned to perfection. Sterile and lifeless.

The front door opened.

I jerked to my feet so fast the room tilted. My heart slammed against my ribs, and my palms went damp.

“Chloe?”