Then the footage showed someone entering with food.

Grant’s blood ran cold.

He knew the man.

Miles Reddick.

Grant’s former driver for nearly a decade—the one who’d taken Grant’s kids to school, the one who knew every gate code, every routine. Grant had fired him months earlier over “lost paperwork,” a dismissal that had felt necessary at the time.

Now Miles stood on the screen like proof that betrayal could wear a familiar face.

“Miles,” Grant growled.

But Grant didn’t believe Miles was the mastermind.

Miles looked like a tool, not the hand holding it.

So Grant did what he hated doing.

He asked for help.

The Letters No One Wanted To Read

Grant went to Serena’s therapist, Dr. Rowan Hart, meeting her in Grant’s glass-walled office overlooking the city.

“I need everything,” Grant said. “Any warning signs. Any enemies. Any fear she didn’t tell me.”

Dr. Hart hesitated, then slid a folder across the desk.

“Serena asked me to keep things private,” she said quietly. “But this isn’t normal anymore.”

Inside were copies of anonymous messages—words cut from magazines and printed neatly, designed to feel theatrical.

But the meaning was personal.

They weren’t about money.

They were about erasing Serena.

About making her watch her own life continue without her.