Jerica stared at her phone, her breath catching in her throat. A chill ran down her spine as she tried to piece together what was going on. The way Harold had asked—so direct, so certain—set her nerves on edge.
She glanced around the empty house again, the silence feeling heavier than ever. Something was wrong. She could feel it in her gut.
Harold slipped his phone back into his coat pocket and exhaled, the sound heavy with frustration. "Catherine…" he began, his voice strained and weary, "what is it this time?" His tone carried more concern than outright hostility, but the edges were frayed with impatience.
Catherine hesitated, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She cast a quick glance around them, ensuring no one was within earshot. "I'm sorry about what Chelsea did last night," she murmured, her voice soft but trembling with emotion.
