The moon hung high in the midnight sky, casting a silver sheen over the Hansen estate. Oliver sat alone in his room, lights dimmed, the flicker of the fireplace dancing across the polished floor and the tall windows. He hadn’t moved much since Rickard left him earlier in the den. His thoughts had followed him like shadows, refusing to be shaken off.
His gym clothes still clung to his body, damp with sweat now gone cold. He had intended to shower but never made it. Instead, he had come up here—to think, to breathe, to somehow convince himself that everything would start to make sense again. But it didn’t.
Rickard’s words rang in his head like a persistent echo: You owe her that. She’s still wearing her wedding ring.
Oliver’s eyes dropped to his own hand.
Bare.
He hadn’t worn his in wee
