The next morning came too quickly.
I barely slept. My mind had been a loop of Matteo's voice, Sophie's worried face, and the one question that refused to die.
Why did Dave do it?
By the time the black car arrived outside Sophie and Edward's house, I was already waiting by the gate. I was dressed in a beige trench coat and dark jeans.
Simple, but sharp enough to remind myself that I wasn't the same woman who once cried herself to sleep beside a man who pretended to forget her.
The driver stepped out, tall and stiff, dressed in an all-black suit. He didn't speak a word. Just opened the rear door for me with a curt nod.
No greeting.
No small talk.
Not that I expected any.
Matteo's people were trained to keep things professional, or should I clarify it as emotionless, efficient, and unreadable.
The kind of people who could walk past you in a crowd and disappear before you even notice.
I got in, and the door shut behind me with a heavy thud.
