For three days, the lie hung between them like a suffocating blanket.
They performed the unspoken script with painstaking care. Kellan read his morning paper in the breakfast nook, his dark suit crisp, his posture immaculately straight. Dean drank his black coffee, stared at his phone, and left for the office at seven-thirty sharp. They discussed household groceries, the weather, and Dean’s commute in flat, polite sentences.
Rule Number Two was in full effect: What happened in Room 4B never happened.
Except it was happening everywhere.
The air in the house had become hyper-charged, thick with invisible current. Everyday interactions carried a razor-sharp edge. When Kellan handed Dean a key envelope from the mail pile, their fingers brushed for half a second—a spark of heat so intense D
