Chapter 3 - The Secret Inside Unit 2902

Officer Davis didn’t wait for an invitation. With the practiced caution of a veteran cop, he stepped entirely past Michael into the entryway, his hand hovering near his belt.

“Step back from the threshold, sir,” Davis commanded, his eyes scanning the open-concept living room and the long hallway leading toward the master bedroom.

“You can’t just walk in here without a warrant!” Michael shouted, his voice cracking, losing all pretense of calm authority. “This is an illegal search! I know my rights!”

“You just invited us into a reported property dispute involving an illegal eviction, Mr. Bennett,” Sergeant Miller replied coolly, stepping past Michael as well and joining his partner. “And given that you are obstructing an officer and refusing to answer basic safety questions regarding occupants, we are well within our rights to secure the premises.”

I stood frozen in the hallway, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Linda scurried backward into the kitchen alcove, her face pale, muttering under her breath about harassment and lawsuits. I watched the two officers move methodically down the hall toward the master suite.

A moment later, Officer Davis’s voice echoed from the back of the condo.

“Miller, you’re going to want to see this.”

Michael lunged forward as if he was going to sprint down the hall, but Sergeant Miller turned around with a sharp, warning glare, holding up a hand. “Stay right where you are, Bennett. Do not move an inch.”

I followed the officers into the hallway on my own authority, my legal right to my own home overriding Michael's pathetic protests. I pushed open the door to the master bedroom—the room I had designed, painted, and paid for.

The king-sized bed was unmade, draped in rumpled silk sheets that certainly weren't the ones I had left on it that morning. On the mahogany nightstand sat an expensive bottle of imported champagne, two crystal flutes, and a scattering of foreign candy wrappers. But it was the walk-in closet that told the complete, horrifying story.

My expensive designer dresses had been violently shoved to the far corners of the rack. In their place hung a row of unfamiliar, cheap fast-fashion garments. On the floor sat a pair of Louboutin heels that definitely did not belong to me, resting right next to a man’s designer cologne that Michael wore only on special occasions.

Officer Davis pointed a gloved finger toward the master bathroom door, which was cracked open an inch. A thin line of steam was drifting out into the bedroom, accompanied by the faint, unmistakable scent of high-end jasmine body wash.

Someone was locked inside my master bathroom.

“Open the door,” Sergeant Miller commanded, his voice echoing off the walls.

No one answered from inside the bathroom.

“Chicago Police Department! Open the door immediately or it will be forced!” Miller raised his voice, stepping directly in front of the white panel door.

Slowly, the brass knob turned. The door clicked open, revealing a thick cloud of condensation rolling out into the bedroom. Standing in the doorway wrapped in one of my plush Egyptian cotton bath towels was a stunning, twenty-something woman with long dark hair cascading down her shoulders and wide, terrified brown eyes.

I stared at her, and the final puzzle piece locked violently into place.

It was Chloe Vance—a junior marketing executive from Michael’s corporate office. Chloe, the woman who had “accidentally” photobombed his company retreat pictures six months ago. Chloe, the girl he claimed was just a junior mentee he was showing the ropes.

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Chloe took one look at Sergeant Miller, then past him at me standing in the doorway with my arms crossed, and her face went completely bloodless.

“Oh, God,” Chloe whispered, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. “I thought... he told me she wasn't coming home until tomorrow night.”