NATASHA POINT OF VIEW.

It was evening of the next day, around the time when Clayton usually came home. I had instructed the servants around the house to begin preparing dinner and set the table, and also prepare a warm bath, which Clayton loved to take whenever he came back from work. I had just sunk into the couch, exhausted from giving orders, when my phone buzzed; it was Trent. I wondered why he was calling me.

"Hello?"

"Natasha, what's up?" He said, sounding frantic.

"I don't know, ...