Chapter 2

Margo pinched the iPad screen, zooming in on the woman’s profile.

"That is you."

My vocal cords locked. The woman on the footage had my exact posture.

"Right," I forced a laugh, stepping backward off Margo’s porch. "I forgot. I went out for a walk late last night. Work stress."

Margo’s brow furrowed.

"Thanks for checking, Margo." I turned and walked away fast, not giving her a chance to ask another question.

The door clicked shut. I slid down, pressing my hands to my eyes.

If it was a stranger, why did her thumbprint open my front door? And why did Dominic touch her with such practiced, effortless intimacy?

I dug my nails into my palms.

By 11:00 PM, Freya was asleep in her room. Dominic was taking his usual long shower. I slipped into the master bedroom and wedged a tiny, black button camera into the dead space between my perfume bottles on the vanity. I angled the lens directly at the antique mirror and the edge of the bed.

I retreated to the study, locked the door, and set the iPad on the desk.

Midnight passed. One o'clock. Two o'clock.

Only the steady rise and fall of Dominic’s chest moved on the screen. The heavy mirror remained a block of solid black shadow.

My eyelids drooped. Maybe she knew I was watching.

At 2:14 AM, the screen glitched.

I bolted upright, grabbing the edges of the tablet.

Dominic stirred. He reached out an arm and tapped the smart speaker on his nightstand.

A tinny, metallic melody bled through the thin walls of the house. It was an old music box tune. A lullaby. Plinking and erratic in the dead of night.

On the screen, a white blur detached itself from the edge of the antique mirror.

A figure smoothly crawled onto the mattress, sliding under the duvet next to Dominic.

I threw the iPad onto the desk, sprinted down the hall, and kicked the bedroom door open. I slammed my hand against the light switch.

Dominic yanked the blanket up, squinting against the harsh bulb.

He was alone. Again.

"Who is she?" I screamed, tearing the duvet right off the bed. "Where did she go?"

Dominic sat up, bewildered and bare-chested. "Genevieve, what the hell is wrong with you?"

I dropped to my knees, shining my phone flashlight under the bed. Dust bunnies. Bare floorboards.

I scrambled up and lunged toward the mirror, checking the corners. Nothing.

But hanging heavy in the air was that cloying, aggressively sweet scent of tuberose.

"You smell it!" I grabbed his forearm, my grip frantic. "She was just here! You played the lullaby for her!"

Dominic ripped his arm out of my grasp. His confusion vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp fury.

"There is no one here but you and your cheap perfume!"

"I don't wear tuberose! It’s on you!"

"Enough!" Dominic roared. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, towering over me. "I work the whole day. And now you invent a phantom rival to torture me?"

The words hit me like a physical blow.

"You played the music box," my voice trembled, but I held my ground. "I saw her on the camera."

"You need serious psychiatric help." He grabbed a spare pillow and his phone. He didn't look at me again as he shoved past my shoulder. "I'm sleeping in the guest room. Don't come near me."

The door slammed shut.

I stood in the center of the empty bedroom, clutching my own hair. The tuberose scent was fading.

The silence of the house pressed against my eardrums, loud and deafening, breeding a pure, terrifying self-doubt.

I didn't buy his story, so I tailed him the next morning. When Dominic left in his Audi, I hung back two blocks.

He didn't drive to the financial district. He bypassed the bank entirely, pulling into an alleyway in the West End.

I parked a block over and watched on foot. There was no corporate branding. Just a heavy, unmarked black door. A man in a tailored suit checked Dominic’s watch before waving him inside.

It was a private men’s cigar club.

I sat in my car for three hours—when Dominic finally emerged, he looked completely refreshed.

When he returned that night, I was on the sofa, coat still on.

"Did you go out?" he asked, loosening his tie.

"Where were you today?" I asked.

"I had a massive client meeting. We're finalizing a merger."

"Since when do bank clients meet at an unmarked private club in the West End?"

Dominic’s hands froze on his collar. The air in the room shifted. He slowly dropped his hands and closed the distance between us.

"You followed me?"

"You brought that thing into our home," I stood up, refusing to back down. "And you lied to me."

"You tracked me like a paranoid schizophrenic." Dominic stepped into my personal space. "I'm documenting all of this, Genevieve. The hallucinations. The screaming in the middle of the night. The stalking. Keep pushing me, and I’ll file for sole custody of Freya. No judge is leaving a child with an insane mother."

My breath hitched.

He hit my dead center. Freya was my life. If he took her, I had nothing.

I looked into his eyes. There was no bluff there. He would do it. He would use my own terror to strip my daughter away from me.

I had to survive. To survive, I had to be invisible.

I let my shoulders drop. I forced the tension completely out of my jaw and let a tear spill over my eyelashes.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

Dominic raised an eyebrow.

"I'm just so tired. You're right," I looked down at the floor. "I think the stress at the firm is breaking me. I'll make an appointment with a therapist next week."

Dominic looked at me for a long moment. Then he smiled—that condescending kind.

"I know you will, baby."

He walked into the kitchen and poured a glass of water from the filtered pitcher. He brought it back into the living room and pressed it into my hands.

"Drink. Go rest." His eyes tracked my throat. "Let me take care of you."

I hated the condescension coating his words. But I raised the glass and drank the water down to the ice cubes.

His smile reached his eyes. "Good girl."

That night, Dominic returned to the master bedroom.

Around 1:00 AM, a bizarre, leaden heaviness sank into my bones.

I tried to shift my leg, but my muscles refused to fire.

My eyes fell shut. Paralysis set in.

Then, out of the pitch black, the plinking notes of the Lullaby began to ring.

A rush of warm air hit the shell of my right ear.

A woman’s lips parted, brushing softly against my skin.