After five tense minutes, he couldn't wait any longer. He pulled up my contact and called.
I shook my head, thinking no one would answer.
But suddenly, the call connected.
Adrian's face softened in relief, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yvette, you..."
But he was cut off by the person on the other end.
"Yvette's dead," came Norman's hoarse, despairing voice.
Adrian's frown deepened. "Norman? It's this late, and you're with my wife?" He got up, his voice rising without control.
He scoffed, his face twisting cynically. "So, are you two at a hotel? Listen, just bring Yvette back now!"
Norman paused before responding sharply, "Adrian, are you deaf?
Yvette's dead. She died because you left her out there.
Because you ditched her for that bitch Kayla."
Adrian's hand clenched the phone so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Adrian demanded.
Norman scoffed and hung up.
The line went dead with a beep. Panic gripped Adrian. He frantically redialed my number over and over.
Norman didn't pick up again.
Adrian repeatedly muttered to himself, "Norman, what the hell are you talking about? Spell it out!"
