Jason's POV
The master suite was a disaster zone of silk and mahogany. I sat on the edge of the oversized bed, my chest heaving, staring at the debris of my own making. I had spent the last two hours tearing through every drawer, every jewelry box, and every hidden corner of the walk-in closet.
Designer dresses lay in tangled heaps on the floor. Drawers hung open like gasping mouths. I had been looking for a note, a diary, a burner phone—anything that proved she had been plotting this. But there was nothing. No trail. No breadcrumbs. It was as if she had been a ghost haunted by her own reflection, moving through these rooms without leaving a single fingerprint of her true intent.
I leaned back, rubbing my eyes until I saw static. I had checked the home security feeds three times. On the
