Jason’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before settling into polite composure.
“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Rainsworth. Please, come in.”

They had expected guilt—hesitation, perhaps even shame. Instead, his calm welcome forced them to reassess at once.

The steadier a man appeared, the more carefully one had to guard against him.

And such composure made them uneasy. They feared their daughter might not be a match for a resolve like this.

Inside, the couple surveyed the small flat. To their surprise, everything was meticulously orderly.

Two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, and two bathrooms—compact, but sufficient. Phoebe’s gaze drifted instinctively toward the bedroom doors.

The larger room was softly furnished. A pink comforter lay neatly tucked, plush toys—Chelsea’s favorites—standing guard at the headboard.