We turn the corner onto the street leading to Wilder House.
“I found a new recipe online,” Millie says, smiling up at me excitedly. “I can’t wait to try it out when we get home.”
Home.
That word still feels new. Strange. Almost impossible… But when Millie is beside me, it fits. I glance at her, excitement stirring low in my chest. She has no idea about the surprise waiting upstairs. I ordered a jewelry kit, and it arrived earlier this afternoon, now hidden in the spare room. It’s much better than the one she has. Professional. I made sure to choose one that contains every tool and supply she could ever need.
I can already picture her face when she sees it. The thought makes something inside me expand, warm and unfamiliar.
I glance down at our joint hands. We look like any other couple, walking home after work. Sharing pieces of our day.Planning dinner. Existing in a world that isn’t built on violence or survival.
Some people might call it boring.
To me, it feels like a miracle.
Because this kind of normal…this steady, settled life…is something I never believed I would have. Millie has filled my world with more warmth and light than I ever thought I deserved.
Wilder House comes into view, but something isn’t right. Millie is still talking beside me, her fingers warm in my hand, clearly oblivious to the unwelcome visitors in front of our home.
There are two police cruisers parked in the driveway and two uniformed officers, standing near the entrance. Their posture is stiff, their expressions set grimly in a way that indicates this isn’t a friendly visit.
Every muscle in my body tightens. Instinct takes over before my thoughts can catch up. I step in front of Millie, shifting her behind me, my hand sliding back to keep hold of hers…the same way I used to move in a different life.
The officers exchange a look, clearly not pleased.
“Wilder Tate?” one of them asks.
My jaw locks. “Yeah.”
The other glances toward Millie, trying to see around me. “And this is Millie Winters?”
I don’t answer. I don’t move. “What do you want?”
“We’re here to conduct a welfare check,” the first officer says, voice clipped. “We received a report that Miss Winters has been missing and may be being held against her will.”
For a second, I don’t understand the words.
Then the implication hits me. A surge of anger hits so fast it nearly blacks out my vision. My grip tightens on Millie’s hand.
Missing.
Held against her will.
The urge to laugh is almost as strong as the urge to break something. Millie squeezes my fingers, as if to remind me of her presence.
“Wilder,” she murmurs softly. Her voice cuts through the rage. I force myself to breathe.
She steps out from behind me before I can stop her.
“I’m not missing,” she tells them firmly. “And I’m definitely not being held anywhere. I live here. I work. I’m fine.”
The officers study her carefully.
“Ma’am, we still need to follow procedure,” the second one says. “We’ll need both of you to come to the station and make formal statements to clear this up.”
My stomach drops.
Police station.
