Ezekiel's POV
The moment that door opened and I saw her face, every rehearsed word vanished from my mind.
I had practiced this conversation during the entire drive over, my fingers clenched around the steering wheel until my hands cramped. Every version I ran through my head sounded fake. Too smooth. Too rehearsed. Too much like the Ezekiel everyone expected - the guy who could sweet-talk his way through any situation.
But Ximena was different.
And this mess couldn't be fixed with charm.
Standing on her doorstep now, I watched her eyes widen in shock, her grip tightening on the door frame like she needed something solid to hold onto. Surprise flashed across her features, then wariness, then something darker I couldn't read.
"Anton isn't home," she said quickly, like throwing up a shield.
"I didn't come here for Anton," I replied, fighting to keep my voice steady.
Her forehead creased. "Then what do you want?"
