The house was quiet, the kind of stillness that only came when my husband was away. I enjoyed these nights—no business talk, no unwelcome guests, just me and the silence.

Then came the knock. Sharp. Purposeful.

I hesitated, setting down my glass before moving to the door. When I opened it, a woman stood on the doorstep, dressed in all black, her expression unreadable. I recognized her. One of my husband’s people.

“Is he here?” she asked, voice steady.

I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms. “No.”

She didn’t move, didn’t even look past me, just held my gaze. “Do you know where he is?”

A humorless chuckle slipped past my lips. “Do I ever?”

Her jaw tensed, but she said nothing.

The silence stretched between us. Most of his men were rough, talkative, always filling the air with noise. But her? She just stood there, watching, waiting.

“You’re not going to leave, are you?” I asked.

She didn’t answer.

I let out a breath, stepping back. “Fine. Come in.”