Hayden POV
The kitchen smells of garlic, pepper, and mild resentment as I methodically slice chicken breasts. Each slice feels like a silent rebellion against the chaos that defines my life. I season the meat the way I hope Reeva might like it. Spicy enough to remind her she is alive, but not so fiery as to make her eyes water.
The front door creaks open, and heavy footsteps come my way.
I do not look up; I do not need to. Even if I did not see him coming, Wyatt has the kind of presence that fills a room with arrogance, and somehow the temperature rose five degrees just because Wyatt decided to grace the world with his opinion.
“Do you need a hand?” Wyatt asks, leaning on the doorframe like it owes him money.
“Nope,” I reply, continuing to slice the chicken. This brute has a way to cr
