The silence between them was suffocating. It wasn’t the kind that came from peace, but the kind that screamed. The kind that clawed at your chest until every heartbeat hurt.
Malia stood by the window, her fingers trembling against the glass as she forced herself to breathe. She had spent the entire night rehearsing what she was about to say — every word, every possible outcome — but now that Kieth stood before her, every line vanished.
He looked like he hadn’t slept either. His tie was loose, his sleeves rolled up, veins taut in his forearms. But it wasn’t the exhaustion in his face that scared her — it was the restraint. The kind that looked seconds away from breaking.
“Talk,” he said quietly. Too quietly.
Her throat burned. “Kieth…”
“Don’t start with my name,” he snapped, his voice
