The screech of tires against gravel announced Henry's arrival before Tom even reached the front door. He threw it open just as Henry emerged from a sleek black car, his face an unreadable mask under the harsh porch light.
"Mr. Rosewood," Tom greeted, his voice neutral. "Come in."
Henry strode past him, a whirlwind of expensive cologne and an air of barely contained menace. Tom shut the door with a soft click, the sound swallowed by the heavy silence that settled in the wake of Henry's entrance.
"Where is she?" Henry demanded, not bothering with pleasantries. His eyes darted around the living room, searching for any sign of Mia.
"She is in her room sleeping," Tom said, "I didn't inform her of your coming," Tom said, as they had agreed he would.
Henry smiled with approval, "That is smart of you. Show me to her room," he ordered.
"I prepared a room for you. You might want to get some sleep and see her in the morning…"
