Chapter 3 - The Ink on the Nightstand
The revelation drops like a lead weight between them. Sarah stares at the open page, her breath catching in her throat as she recognizes the sweeping cursive strokes. It is undeniably Clara’s handwriting, neat and deliberate, but the ink is fresh, glistening faintly under the amber glow of the recessed lighting. How could anyone have written in a book that had been locked inside her own private bag just moments before? Little Lily shifts again, her little hand curling into a fist against Sarah’s light beige cardigan, oblivious to the storm raging around them.
"I haven't touched that pen since yesterday afternoon," Sarah whispers, her voice shaking with a mixture of fear and righteous indignation. "Julian, you have to believe me. Someone else is in this apartment. Someone is setting me up."
Julian lets out a harsh, humorless laugh, the sound grating against the quiet luxury of the modern living room. He runs his tattooed hand through his dark hair, his fingers pausing over the pale scar on his forehead.
"Right. A phantom intruder managed to slip past biometric locks, bypass the silent alarms, and plant evidence in your room without triggering a single sensor," Julian says, his tone dripping with bitter sarcasm. "Or perhaps I'm just losing my mind, just like the doctors hinted after Clara died."
"Look at the window," Sarah urges, pointing a trembling finger toward the floor-to-ceiling glass panels overlooking the dark city skyline. "The patio door is unlocked. It was latched when I put Lily down at eight, but now it's cracked open."
Julian’s demeanor shifts in a fraction of a second. The cynicism vanishes, replaced instantly by the lethal alertness of a man trained to protect what is his. Without another word, he steps back, sliding his right hand inside his black blazer to grip the cold steel of a concealed firearm. He moves with terrifyingly swift, silent grace, gliding across the polished hardwood floor toward the terrace entrance. The heavy silk curtains ripple slightly in the indoor draft, revealing a narrow gap where the cold night air pours into the climate-controlled penthouse.
"Stay right there," Julian commands in a low, dangerous hiss, his eyes locked on the dark shadows outside the glass.
Sarah clutches Lily tighter, her heart pounding furiously against her ribs as she watches Julian edge closer to the sliding door. He reaches out, his tattooed hand gripping the handle, and yanks the glass panel wide open with a sudden, forceful thrust. The wind howls into the room, scattering loose papers across the grand piano.
Nothing is on the terrace except an empty chair and the sprawling skyline. But sitting squarely on the stone railing, catching the pale moonlight, is a second leather journal, identical to the first.
Julian picks it up slowly, his face pale in the moonlight. He flips it open to the first page, and his breath hitches.
May you like
"It's addressed to you, Sarah," Julian says, turning slowly to face her with eyes wide with shock. "And the handwriting isn't Clara's anymore. It's yours."
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