The Langston villa was the kind of place people bought to prove something.

Pillars too white, gardens too trimmed and furniture too expensive to be comfortable. I stood at the front steps, clutching my purse, and for a moment, I could almost hear the echo of the past, the hum of the small apartment Chase and I once shared, the sound of rain leaking through the ceiling, the laughter that used to come easily back then.

Now, even the air felt sterile.

I pressed the doorbell.

The chime was soft, ...