The whiskey bottle was still half full.
But Xavier's throat burned like fire as he took another shot, slumping into the leather chair by the window. The city glowed beneath him-cold, distant, untouched by the hell inside him.
She had run out.
And he had let her.
Because he was a coward.
Because if his father knew...
The thought alone was enough to make him close his eyes-and suddenly he wasn't in the penthouse anymore.
He was fifteen again.
Rain hammering against tall windows.
A fire roaring in the corner of the vast study.
And a man-taller than life, colder than death-stood by the fireplace in a tailored black coat.
"Do you know what disgusts me most about weakness, Xavier?"
His voice had been calm. Measured. Deadly.
Xavier didn't answer. He stood still, back straight, fists
