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 door creaked open with the sound of soft hinges, spilling cinnamon and something sweeter—false warmth.
“Hi, sweetie!” Mrs. King beamed, her apron still dusted with flo
