The drive back from the golf course had been in asuffocating silence. Charlotte sat in the passenger seat of the sleek, black SUV, watching the neon lights of the city begin to flicker to life as the sun dipped below the horizon. Beside her, Martin was a fraying wire. He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were ghostly white, his eyes darting toward the rearview mirror every few seconds as if a ghost were tailing them.
Charlotte noticed that Martin has not been himself ever since he returned from taking a "pee" from the golf course but he keeps claiming he is fine. But she knows he is not fine. Martin was many things—arrogant, entitled, and desperately insecure, but he was a terrible liar.
The way he came back, not angry, not calm, but… off. Something had shifted.
Now, sitting beside him in the car, that feeling only grew stronger.
Charlotte wasn't naive. She didn't grow up in the manicure city some polished mansion and manicured shielded from reality.
