Then the front door clicked open downstairs. Daniel was home late. I minimized my screens, a cold sweat breaking across the back of my neck, and listened to his heavy footsteps on the stairs.

The footsteps paused outside my door. The knob began to turn.

Chapter 3: The Canvas of Consequence

“Claire?” Daniel’s voice drifted through the crack, slightly slurred. The scent of scotch and Vanessa’s signature jasmine perfume wafted in with it.

I shut my laptop and arranged my face into a mask of exhausted indifference. “In here. Just finishing quarterly tax projections for a client.”

He pushed the door open, leaning heavily against the frame. His tie was loosened, his hair rumpled in that calculated, boyish way he knew women liked.

“You work too much,” he muttered, without any real concern. “Come to bed. I’m exhausted. Big pitch meetings all day.”