CHARLES had never known the way to Shantel’s house.
Back when they were together, he had visited a handful of times, but heartbreak had erased familiarity. After the ugly breakup, after the shouting and the slammed doors and the pride, he had sworn never to return.
Yet here he was.
Because something far too important was at stake.
Amelia’s voice accusing him of being a liar echoed in his head.
The photo.
The message.
The humiliation and disgust in her eyes.
He couldn’t sit and fold his arms.
He had to get answers.
It took him nearly an hour— asking an old mutual acquaintance, driving through unfamiliar streets, double-checking house numbers, but eventually he stood before a small bungalow with cream-painted walls and a black iron gate.
His jaw tightened.
This was it.
He strode
