The sound of his footsteps outside my door stopped my heart.
I knew it was him.
I sat on the bed, my hands gripping the edge of the mattress, my fingers curling into the fabric. My back was straight. My shoulders stiff. My lungs forgot how to breathe.
The footsteps stopped right outside my door.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then the handle turned.
The door opened.
Zander stepped inside.
I forgot every word I had rehearsed in my head.
He looked… different.
Not the Zander I knew.
Not the man who walked as if the world belonged to him. Not the man whose eyes were always sharp. Always watching. Always in control.
This version of him looked like something had been taken out of him.
His eyes were red. Not slightly red. Red like he had been crying. Red like he had been holding som
