ZYRAN’S POV

The echo of my own threat lingered in the office.

I stared down at Roosevelt, her back was pressed flat against the wall. Her chest heaved, and her eyes were wide. But she wasn't looking at me with passion. She was looking at me with the same fear she had five years ago.

The realization hit me like a bullet to the chest.

I looked down at the shattered vase on the floor. I saw the crushed white roses and the puddle of water soaking into the expensive hardwood.

I am doing it again, I thought, a sickening wave of self-hatred washing over me.

I am acting like...