Chapter 119

The contact's profile picture was a black suit. Before Latisha could even check their information, a message came through: [Hello, are you in need of legal services?]

So, he was a lawyer. When she didn't reply, another message followed: [Very few people have this number, so you must have been referred by a friend. I'm happy to help.]

Latisha's fingers trembled. His enthusiastic demeanor didn't seem to fit the image of a high-powered lawyer. She quickly typed a reply: [I have something I'd like to consult you about. How should I address you?]

[My last name is Blaine. First name Zadok.]

Latisha saved his name in her contacts. Just as she was about to type again, she heard footsteps at the door. She quickly shoved her phone into her pocket. Turning around, she saw Clifford had returned.

She stood up from the sofa, her body tense as he walked in, took off his coat, and threw it onto the sofa beside her.

"What were you doing at the hospital today?" he asked. His face was devoid of emotion, making it impossible to tell if he was concerned or accusing.

After a moment's hesitation, Latisha signed, *I have a bit of a cold.*

"A cold?"

She nodded.

Clifford said nothing more. His gaze shifted and locked onto the business card on the table. Latisha's heart leaped into her throat. She moved to grab it, but he was faster. He picked up the card, examined it closely, and then glanced at her, his expression unreadable.

A cold sweat broke out on Latisha's forehead. Would he figure it out?

To her relief, he just gave her a dismissive look and tossed the card back onto the table. "If you have a cold, you should get some rest. Go to bed early."

With that, he turned and went upstairs.

Latisha let out a long, shaky breath. She picked up the business card, tore it into tiny pieces, and threw it in the trash.

Remembering she hadn't eaten, she went to the kitchen. The fridge was still stocked with groceries Mrs. Dashiell had bought. The thought of her made Latisha's heart ache.

She took out some pasta and, out of habit, made enough for two. Only when she was done did she realize Clifford had probably already eaten. She carried the plates to the dining table and sat alone, quietly eating. The other plate, still steaming, sat across from her. Slowly, the heat dissipated, leaving behind a cold, congealed mound of pasta.

After showering and taking her medicine, she curled up on the sofa to sleep. When she woke up the next morning, Clifford was already gone, but a blanket had been draped over her.

She went to the dining room. The

plate of pasta was still on the table, now cold and hard. For some

reason, the sight of it sent a shamet

pang through her heart. It felt like something important, just like that pasta, had slowly grown cold.

A sudden wave of dizziness hit her, and her vision started to go dark. She gripped the edge of the table to steady herself and slowly sat down, waiting for the feeling to pass. This had been happening more and more often-the sudden dizzy spells, followed by fainting.

After a few moments, the feeling subsided. She changed her clothes and prepared

to leave for the office. Since there was no public transportation nearby, she had to take a taxi.

In the car, she took out her phone and opened WhatsApp. The next second, all the color drained from her face.

A wave of pure terror washed over her, so intense it made her skin crawl. The lawyer, Zadok, had sent her a message. But there was no notification, which meant someone had already read it.

There were only two people in the villa: her and Clifford. And she hadn't seen it.

The answer was terrifyingly clear.