Sarah's POV
The silence that followed Liam’s roar was heavy, thick with the scent of pine and the cold realization of a decade-old lie. Liam looked like a man who had been struck by lightning—his skin pale, his eyes wide with a manic, flickering light.
"Ten years," Liam whispered, his voice barely more than a jagged breath. "Ten years of looking at the rain and seeing a dead man. Ten years of Jason holding my hand through the 'guilt' while he was the one who felt the pulse stop."
Wesley stepped back, his hand instinctively resting on the holster at his hip. He looked between Liam and the screen, his face unreadable. He didn't know the Vanderbilts, and he clearly didn't know the history of the Maxwell name, but he knew the look of a man who had just found out his life was a curated cage
