Drake’s POV
Margaret did not ask.
She never asked anymore.
She stood in the doorway of our bedroom like she owned the space and everything inside it. Her robe hung loosely on her shoulders, half open, her skin exposed without shame. Her hair was undone, falling around her face in a way that would have once pulled my attention instantly. The smell of her perfume mixed with alcohol filled the room, heavy and cloying.
“You have been avoiding me,” she said.
Her voice was calm, but it carried accusation. It always did.
I stood by the window, my back to her, staring out at the city lights. They glittered endlessly, rows of buildings and streets and lives that had nothing to do with the mess behind me. I pretended they mattered more than the tension thickening the air.
“I am tired,” I repl
