His voice grew colder: “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
Isabella fought the urge to gasp. Whatever he wanted — it wasn’t divorce. It wasn’t freedom. Something much darker was happening. Something tied to money. Something tied to “the last dose.” She needed to get out. But before she could decide whether to bolt, Travis stood. Footsteps retreated. A drawer opened. Metal clinked. Something sharp being handled. Her heart lurched in terror.
She opened her eyes a fraction — just enough to see his reflection in the microwave door. He held a large kitchen knife. Wiping it slowly with a towel. Her stomach churned. Her brain screamed, Run. But her limbs were heavy — not because of poison, but because fear was a weight she’d never known.
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