ss. She didn't apologize for throwing the vase, didn't

g the door. I heard her voice, low and urgent, talking to someone. L

shaking slightly. The contrast was stark.

stant vigilance, the emotiona

oftware architecture diagram. My head was pounding. A wave of dizziness

e'd made a seafood pasta. I have a severe shellfish aller

I'd asked her if there was any shellfish in it. "No, of course not, Et

horrible suspicion bloomed. Had it

y chest felt tight. I collap

ng my vitals. Anaphylactic shock, she explained

ia's dismissive tone. Her distraction. Co

rance policies echoed ominously. It was a chilling

boating accident. Was that also not an accident? My head throbbed, not just fr

later with some discharg

d very worried about Mr. Vance. Kept asking if he was stab

"Mr. Vance?" I aske

fe was with him, apparently. She listed herself as his emergency contact. She was

l not primarily for me, but for Liam. Listing herself as *his

It was a public declar

, empty. Olivia wasn't there. Probably s

s meticulously organized. Her expensive clothes, her

nightstand. Us smiling on vacations,

rs ago, one she used to love seeing me wear. I took it, along with a few other m

hared history turn to ash. It was a symbolic act, a seve

t night. She looked tired, but th

god," she said, rushing to me,

. Shellfish? But I was so careful with that pasta!" Her

s echoed in my mind.

"It was a severe reaction," I said. "The do

d, her eyes welling up. "I feel te

t I knew the truth. I knew

tly. "Or were you more w

licker of guilt, then defensiveness. "Liam was in an ac

he narrative, to paint herself as the caring one, was asto