Some battles aren’t fought with weapons—but with silence, denial, and the ghosts of what we refuse to say.

—-

Alexander’s POV

The engine died with a low growl as I killed it in Martin King’s driveway.

The house stood quiet. Too quiet. The kind of calm that whispered secrets behind windows and laughed in your face when you weren’t looking.

I’d already been to his office. They said he left early. So I came here, unannounced, uninvited, and not in the mood for pleasantries.

I didn’t knock once. I slammed the bell like it owed me answers. Again. And again. My jaw clenched tighter with every passing second.

Finally, the...