Edward's POV
I hadn’t slept in any way that counted because the kind of unrest that follows you into morning isn’t about insomnia, it’s about knowing the truth is waiting in the next room, still unspoken.
The apartment was silent, but not peacefully so it was the kind of silence that follows betrayal, thick and unforgiving, like fog wrapping around a house that once stood tall but now groans under the weight of rot.
I stood barefoot in the hallway, staring at the closed door to my study the room I hadn’t entered in over a week, not since Alice’s press conference rewrote the narrative I thought I controlled.
Something had changed after that speech not just in the public’s eyes, but in mine, too because when she said “I am the story,” I realized I was no longer the man she was telling it
