POV: Maxwell
The front doors of the Jordan estate closed behind me with a sickening thud.
The sound echoed through the marble foyer. For a second I just stood there, my hand still on the brass handle. Waiting for the doors to swing open again and for someone to tell me I’d overreacted, that Fiona was downstairs in the kitchen making coffee and pretending she wasn’t mad at me.
Nothing happened.
No security guards greeted me. I had dismissed them all at the front gate before I even got out of the car. I didn’t want the bowed heads, the formal “Mr. Jordan” murmured at a safe distance. I didn’t want anyone looking at me. I didn’t want to see the pity, the shock, or the judgment in their eyes. I’d spent thirty years building a reputation as a man who never blinked, never lost, never need
