ALEXANDER
I parked across the street from the salon the moment I saw my mother’s car tucked neatly into one of the slots near the entrance.
Of course she was here.
For a second, I considered going inside. Walking straight in. But something about this didn’t call for force or intrusion. If Helen was avoiding me—and she was—then barging in would only give her the upper hand she already enjoyed too much.
So I stayed where I was.
I leaned against the hood of my car, arms crossed loosely, eyes trained on the entrance. The salon was one of those places she favored—tasteful, understated luxury. The kind of place where people paid for discretion as much as service.
I didn’t wait long.
The door opened, and my mother stepped out like she owned not just the sidewalk but the entire street. A wo
