Page 144 of Stolen Vows

My throat tightens, but I just nod. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. But I do know this: I’ve fought for myself. For my happiness. For my freedom.

And someday, I hope she’ll fight for hers too.

Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But someday.

And when that day comes, I’ll be waiting.

51

GRAHAM

We pullup to Florence’s house too many hours later. Time was the enemy on that goddamn flight. Every minute felt like a stolen hour. But it doesn’t matter now, because we’re finally here.

I park the car a few houses down, on the backside of the street. We spent a third of the flight discussing the best way to go about this. We’re outnumbered with our hands tied for all the information we have. But I’ve done more with less before. And none of those times involved Francesca. I could power this entire neighborhood on my determination alone.

The street is dark and quiet, the houses looming like silent sentinels in the night. Florence’s house sits at the end of the cul-de-sac, a sprawling estate of stone and glass, all sharp angles and cold elegance.

Beau lets out a low whistle as he takes it in. “Damn. You still wanna just waltz up to the front door?”

I don’t respond, my gaze fixed on the house. Searching for any sign of movement, any hint of what awaits us inside. But half the windows are dark, the curtains mostly drawn.

My wife is here. I can feel it. But even if I couldn’t, I still have a tracker on her phone. And it’s blinking to life inside this mammoth house.

A slow, lethal breath moves through me.

Beau cracks his knuckles. “So, smash and grab?”

I shake my head, my voice low and even. “No. We go in quiet. No one sees us coming until it’s too late.”

Beau nods once, his expression turning serious. “Lead the way.”

We slide out of the car, the doors clicking shut with barely a sound. The night air is crisp and cool, the moon hanging low and heavy in the sky. It bathes everything in an ethereal glow, casting long shadows across the manicured lawns.

I motion for Beau to follow me as I move toward the house, my footsteps silent against the grass, bats slung over our shoulders. We obviously couldn’t bring them on the plane, but when we stopped at one of those fancy truck stops for food, Beau spotted them. They’re not as good as the ones we left in Beau’s car back home, but they’ll do the job just the same.

We stick to the shadows as we approach the house, skirting along the tree line at the edge of the property. Every sense is on high alert, my muscles coiled tight and ready to strike at the first sign of trouble.

As we draw closer, I can make out more details. The ornate front door, the wrought-iron fence surrounding the perimeter, a couple of security cameras perched in the corners.

I pause at the corner of the house, pressing my back against the cool stone. Beau mirrors my position on the other side. Our eyes meet for a split second, an unspoken understanding passing between us.

I hold up a hand, signaling for Beau to wait, then duck my head around the corner. The side yard is empty, no signs of security or surveillance beyond the cameras. I motion Beau forward and we move together, low and fast, skirting along the side of the house until we reach a set of French doors leading to what looks like a sunroom.

I test the handle, surprised to find it unlocked. I ease the door open, scanning the darkened interior for any signs of an alarm or motion sensors. Nothing. Amateurs.

We slip inside, closing the door silently behind us. The room is shrouded in shadows, the only light coming from the faint glow of the moon through the windows. I blink, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness as I take in our surroundings.

Expensive furniture, tasteful art on the walls, a grand piano in the corner. It all screams wealth and privilege, the kind of luxury that’s meant to be admired from a distance. But there’s no warmth here, no sense of home or family. Just cold, calculated perfection.

Beau moves to my side. “Where should we start?”

I pull out my phone and open the app. I tilt the screen toward him and motion toward the door with my head. Before I take a step forward, his hand clamps onto my shoulder.

“Wait.”

I arch a brow, impatience pounding against my temples.

“She hasn’t replied, right? I bet she doesn’t have her phone.”

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