“Lorenzo, where are you?” she called again, her voice trembling. The house seemed to hold its breath, as if hiding secrets in its very walls.Georgina moved cautiously through the house, her heart pounding in her chest. As she entered, from where she stood, she found Lorenzo’s room door opened. She was met with an unsettling sight—Lorenzo sat on his bed, his normally impeccable attire disheveled, and his gaze fixed on a distant point as if lost in thought.She approached him slowly, and spoke softly, “Lorenzo, what happened? You had us so worried. Where have you been?”Lorenzo turned to her, his eyes clouded with an intensity she hadn’t seen before. He seemed both lost and troubled, like a man grappling with inner demons.“Georgina,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “ You were right all along. The calls, the late night SUV spies. It’s all connected. It was Marcelo”.Georgina’s heart raced so fast as she stuttered. “What makes you so sure this time? Did you have an encounter
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