My deceased father appeared in my dream the night before my birthday and warned, ‘Don’t wear the dress your husband gave you.’ I woke up trembling, because my husband had just given me that dress. And when the seamstress brought it back and I checked the lining, I realized my father hadn’t just visited in a dream, he might have prevented something I hadn’t noticed.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t pretend. I’ve seen something wrong with you since this morning. What happened?”

Liv met his gaze, feeling her chest tighten with pain. This was the man she had loved, shared her life with, and now he was looking at her with the cold calculation of a predator whose prey was slipping away.

“Nothing happened, Mark,” she said evenly. “I just finally woke up.”

He was about to say something more, but they arrived at the restaurant, pulled into the parking lot, and Mark cut the engine. He sat frozen, staring straight ahead.

“Liv, if you’re planning anything,” he began.

She opened the door and stepped out, not letting him finish.

The restaurant was adorned with balloons and flowers. Iris met them at the entrance, handed Liv a bouquet, hugged her tightly, and whispered, “Everything will be fine. Stay strong.”

The guests were already assembled in the dining room. Colleagues from work, neighbors, old friends. Everyone smiled, offered congratulations, handed gifts. Liv smiled back, thanked them, hugged them, but inside there was emptiness. Mark hovered close, playing the devoted husband, yet Liv sensed his tension trembling beneath the surface. Several times he tried to pull her aside for private words, but she found a reason to evade him.

The party moved forward. Tables were set, dishes brought out, wine poured. The master of ceremonies began the program. Guests raised toasts. Liv sat at the head of the table, smiling, responding to congratulations, but her eyes constantly swept the room, searching for Detective Hayes’s team.

She spotted them. Three men at a corner table dressed inconspicuously but alert. One caught her gaze and offered a barely noticeable nod.

They were here. They were watching.

Mark grew more restless, gulping wine, barely touching his food, stepping out repeatedly to take calls. Each time he returned, his expression was darker.

“Liv, we need to talk,” he murmured for the umpteenth time, leaning toward her ear.

“Not now, Mark,” she said without turning. “We have guests.”

“This is important.”

Then he gripped her hand so hard it hurt.

Liv cried out and several guests turned. Mark immediately released her, forcing a strange smile.

“Sorry. Accident.”

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