Code Name: Solace

CHAPTER FIVE

I woke up to an empty bed.

This time, I felt nothing. No anger, no fear. Just a hollow, ringing numbness.

The breakfast I forced myself to eat tasted like it was made in black and white—flavorless, lifeless. The house around me sat still, eerily so, as if holding its breath. Even the air felt stale, like it had been sitting too long without being disturbed.

I rinsed my plate and set it in the drying rack, but something nagged at me. The dishes. Last night, Warren had washed them, meticulously as always. He was the kind of man who lined things up with precision, everything in its place. I scanned the rack again. One plate and a fork were missing.

A slow, creeping dread slithered down my spine.

Everything Warren does is calculated. His shirts are always pressed, his shoes lined up like soldiers, his toiletries arranged with unnerving symmetry. Even his chaos is controlled.

The cameras.

We had dozens of them, positioned at every angle of our home. Warren insisted they were necessary since we lived so far from town. A security measure, he called it. But we didn't have an alarm system. Just cameras—always watching, always recording.

And then there was the house itself. So many hallways. So many doors. The basement, which he turned into his personal office, was always locked. The garage had multiple exits. The floor plan wasn't designed for comfort—it was designed for escape.

A chill settled deep in my bones.

I should've realized it sooner. The hushed phone calls, the way his movements felt too rehearsed. His silence, his distant stares, the way he was always assessing, calculating. My husband wasn't just secretive. He was hiding something.

And suddenly, I knew—I wasn't safe here.

A sharp knock at the door jolted me.

I sucked in a breath, pulse hammering. I didn't move. I stayed frozen in the kitchen, out of sight.

Another knock, heavier this time.

My phone vibrated in my palm, and Warren's name flashed across the screen.

I hesitated.

Then, slowly, I answered.

"Hello." My voice shook.

There was a pause before he spoke. "The contractors are outside."

I swallowed. My throat was dry. "Right," I murmured. "I was distracted."

"Stay on the phone when you answer the door." His tone was even. Unreadable.

A command.

I forced my feet forward. Through the peephole, I saw a stocky man in a company shirt and dirt-streaked jeans. He smiled the moment I opened the door.

"Hello, Mrs. Solace. I'm Joe." He jabbed a thumb behind him. "Those are my guys."

I followed his gesture. Six men, spaced out along the lawn. Not talking. Not laughing.

Just standing. Watching.

Their hands were too clean. Their hair too neat.

Not construction workers.

Something was very, very wrong.

Joe flashed his ID, but my mind barely registered it. I could feel the weight of my husband's silence through the phone.

"Can you hand him the phone, sweetheart?" Warren's voice was smooth.

Sweetheart.

My stomach twisted.