Kayden sat in the dark.
His office in the east wing overlooked the courtyard, though he kept the curtains drawn tight. Still, he knew the moment the car rolled past the gates, he always did. The rumble of tires on gravel, the faint echo of voices outside, the way the mansion itself seemed to stir at Everette’s presence.
His fingers tightened around the glass in his hand. He hadn’t taken a sip of the whiskey he poured hours ago. It just sat there, amber liquid trembling with the tremor of his grip.
He’s here.
The words rang like both salvation and damnation.
Everette was here. In his home. Just a few corridors away. Breathing, moving, alive. Kayden had imagined this moment every hour since the accident, pictured himself running to his side, kneeling at his bed, begging for forgiveness he didn’t deserve.
And yet, he hadn’t moved.
