Ken stood at the threshold of the Welhaven' estate, pain fresh like that day ripping through him as he looked up at the the the iron gate groaning shut behind him like a coffin lid. The mansion, all white marble and cold glass, loomed silent under a bruised evening sky.
The fountain in the courtyard let off a steady stream, the water collecting dead leaves from the trees like unspoken secrets. He hated being here. Hated the fact that he would be forced to see her. But the lie she had told, the dangerous, blistering lie demanded confrontation.
He had once allowed Ophelia to dictate the choices which led him to lose Maeve and go down a lonely path. This time, he was not going to let her get away with doing the same thing to Maeve's daughter, he owed her that much.
