And that means something.
Still turning it over in my mind, I pad into the bathroom and step into the shower behind Bennett. I slip out of my nightshirt and let it fall before pressing into his back.
Hot water rains down, steady and loud.
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. Bennett has always been like this—quiet, grounded. When he speaks, itmatters. He doesn’t fill space just to hear himself talk like everyone else around us.
In a world full of performance, Bennett is real.
I’ve always thought I was lucky.
But was Whitney?
I used to think so. I used to think we’d both found something rare.
Our weddings—nine months apart—are held at The Pierre in Naples. The same place as the Gulf Coast Debutante Ball. The same place Whitney’s husband invests in.
The same place everything changed.
Where our nightmare began.
Or ended.
Depending on how you look at it.
Whitney saved me that night. She’s saved me more times than I can count.
So why does it feel like now—it’s my turn?
Tears slip down my cheeks, dissolving into the spray.
Bennett turns without a word and pulls me into him.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into my hair.
I cling to him, my body shaking, afraid that if I let go, I’ll collapse completely.
An hour later, Bennett leaves for work, and I wander the house without direction, my thoughts looping endlessly.
The morning sun filters through the kitchen windows, casting fractured light across the marble floors. The house is too quiet. The kind of quiet that lets your thoughts run unchecked.
I’ve been drowning in them.
Whitney’s death.
Phillip’s infidelity.
The certainty that something isn’t right.
Today, I need a break.
Retail therapy won’t fix anything, but it might distract me long enough to breathe. It’s not like I can talk to Bennett—he already thinks grief is making me unstable.
Maybe he’s not entirely wrong.
I grab my tote and head for the door.
The moment I open it, my breath catches.
