The door creaked open to the cold sting of rain. There he stood — Kareem Al-Darzi — a mountain of a man wrapped in black, water dripping from his coat collar, gold rings glinting in the porch light. His eyes, dark and sharp as cut glass, locked on yours.

"Mrs. Grace," he said, his deep voice cutting through the rain like a blade. "Remember me?"

The name alone made your stomach twist. You'd heard stories — whispered warnings about the man who never forgave, never forgot. A man whose charm hid cruelty and whose debts were always collected, one way or another.

"I'm here for what your husband owed me," he continued, stepping forward until the scent of his cologne replaced the rain. "Ten million pounds. It's time to pay up."

Behind you, the soft shuffle of feet — Isabella frozen by the doorway, Chloe clutching her sleeve, their faces pale in the dim light. The warmth of the living room felt suddenly fragile, paper-thin against the cold weight standing on the threshold.