Ella stepped out of the car, her heels clicking against the stone pavement as the driver quietly shut the door behind her. The night air had cooled, but her skin still felt too warm—flushed from the memory of Sidney's hand, his voice, the veiled offer dressed in polite words.
The house Dale had arranged for her was dark when she entered, save for the motion sensor lights that blinked on in the foyer. She locked the door behind her, then double-checked it, a new habit that had been inculcated into her, thanks to Dale's paranoia for protection.
She didn't bother turning on any other lights. Instead, she walked straight to the kitchen, placing the untouched champagne glass down on the counter like it might explode if she wasn't careful. Her fingers lingered at the base before she finally let go.
Was it him?
