Roman didn't hesitate. He stormed to the door, his fists clenched at his sides, his jaw locked tight. Something was wrong. Deeply wrong. Estelle couldn't have just vanished. She couldn't have just walked out, and she certainly couldn't disappear without a trace.
The door swung open, and he stepped into the hallway, his pulse already beginning to climb. He noticed a maid passing by, her steps quick and light against the polished floor.
"You," Roman called sharply. "Where is my wife?"
The maid froze mid-step, her shoulders stiffening before she slowly turned back to him. Her brows knit together, but her expression felt off.
"I—I have no idea, Sir," she said, almost too quickly, before turning to continue on her way.
Roman's eyes narrowed. He had seen it. The faint tremor in her fingers, the way she avoided his gaze. She knew something for sure.
