The silence in the study was absolute, yet for Alexander, it was a cacophony of regret. He sat slumped in the leather chair, staring at the empty space on the desk where Ruby usually teased him about his "over-caffeinated workaholism." Now, the space felt like a grave.
His mind replayed the last twenty-four hours in a gruesome, slow-motion reel. He saw his mother—the woman who had taught him grace—stand with such icy cruelty and slap Ruby across the face. He felt the phantom vibration of that impact in his own jaw. But the worst part, the part that made him want to shatter the mahogany desk with his bare hands, was the look in Ruby’s eyes before they took her.
She hadn’t been angry. She had been begging. Not for freedom, but for belief. “Alexander, look at me. You know my soul. You kn
