The morning came, but it didn’t feel like morning. The house was still cloaked in shadows, the air heavy, as though sunlight itself refused to enter.
I hadn’t slept. My body was exhausted, but my mind was relentless, replaying every sound of last night’s chaos—the crash of glass, the ragged gasps, Daniel’s trembling voice when he looked at me as though I’d driven a knife through his chest.
The silence afterward had been worse than the fight.
Now, as I sat at the kitchen table with untouched coffee growing cold in front of me, I realized this was the kind of silence that could kill.
Daniel
He entered first. His suit was sharp, tie perfectly knotted, shoes polished to a gleam—yet his face betrayed the storm inside. Shadows under his eyes, a clenched jaw, lips pressed into a thin, danger
