Ronald’s expression shifted for half a second. There it was. Panic. Not fear of the police, exactly. Fear of time. Fear of delay. Fear that something was slipping away from him and every minute mattered.
“Lexi,” he said quietly, “do not do that.”
The way he said it made the hair at the back of my neck rise.
I backed away from the bedroom doorway and moved quickly toward the study, my fingers already dialing building security. The call connected on the second ring.
“This is Alexandra Vale in penthouse three,” I said. “My ex-husband is outside my door with a locksmith attempting unauthorized entry.”
The guard’s voice sharpened immediately. “Ms. Vale, stay inside. We’re sending someone up now.”
I ended the call and dialed 911 next.
By the time I returned to the security feed, Ronald had stepped close enough to the camera that only his face filled the screen.
