SCARLETT
The silence between us was a scream.
Zayden stood there, motionless, the takeout bag still in his hand, forgotten. My eyes stayed locked on his face, searching—no, begging—for a flicker of truth. But all I got was that same carefully crafted mask he wore so well. The one that had fooled me for years.
My heart was thudding so violently, I could barely hear my own thoughts. The betrayal in the drawer was still burning in my palms, even though the papers now lay scattered on the floor like broken promises.
"What really happened with my dad’s imprisonment?" I asked again, but this time, my voice trembled less. My fingers curled into fists. I was shaking, but I wouldn’t let him see me fall.
He exhaled slowly, placing the bag gently on the table. "Why are we doing this right now?"
