More and more intimate photos of Loraine and Dordrich spread across the table.
My PI delivered a thick envelope and every photo that comes out makes my blood boil even more. I take a double whiskey from the cupboard and add some blocks of ice. Good enough to calm my nerves.
I look out the window of the penthouse.
I arrived here last night, a new plan to get Loraine back to our residence, bombard her with memories of our good times spent here. But yesterday she was missing and also this morning the staff of the hospital did not find her in the rented apartment. And now I get these pictures of where she was and with whom. I can't believe it, if these photos weren't in front of me as proof, I'd dismiss the report as being gossip. But I can't get around it, it's hard on the table right in
