A Caged Songbird's Escape: Into the Arms of a Predator novel Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Edna’s expression faltered for a split second, but she answered honestly. “No, sir hasn’t been home these past few days.”

She quickly added on Frank’s behalf, “He’s always busy. Don’t let your mind wander.”

Elissa nodded. “Alright, don’t worry.”

She didn’t have the energy, nor the interest, to speculate about her almost–ex–husband’s whereabouts.

After several nights of restless sleep, Elissa had hoped that a hot shower and the comfort of her own bed would finally bring her a full night’s rest. Instead, insomnia kept her awake.

This place just didn’t feel like home anymore.

Same room, same bed–nothing had changed, yet somehow everything felt different.

Elissa reached for her phone on the nightstand, scrolling through her social feed out of

sheer boredom.

Tanya Foster: Dropped off the world’s most amazing bestie. Now back to the grind–case files, here I come!

A small smile tugged at Elissa’s lips as she gave the post a like.

She kept scrolling until her thumb froze mid–swipe.

Marcia: You really meant it–you always protect me, you’re always there whenever I need

you.

The accompanying photo showed Marcia in a hospital bed, someone feeding her slices of fruit.

Only a hand was visible in the frame–long fingers, defined knuckles, and a small red birthmark by the wrist.

Elissa recognized it instantly. The man in the photo was Frank.

She took a screenshot, then sent it to Frank with a message: [You’re still at the hospital, right? I need to talk to you. Can I stop by tomorrow?]

He wasn’t coming home.

She didn’t mind being the one to reach out.

After all, the divorce was a relief for both of them.

Vistapeak International Airport.

1/3

13:33

Chapter 27

The plane touched down. Frank slumped back into the car seat, rubbing his brow wearily.

It was late, the streets nearly empty. The black Maybach glided smoothly through pools of yellowish streetlight, the shifting glow tracing sharp lines along Frank’s refined profile. Usually calm and poised, tonight he looked cold and distant.

His assistant spoke quietly, “Mr. Atwater, are we heading to the office or to Greenwood

“When did you take that photo?”

Marcia was at a bar, pushing through the noisy crowd toward somewhere quieter as she answered, “What photo?”

Frank didn’t mince words; his voice was edged with exhaustion. “The photo you just posted on your feed.”

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