I reach his door and am about to knock when I see it’s cracked open.
My pulse drops, and my nerves spike into a sharp state of awareness.
This feels like the beginning of one of those crime shows—where the detective walks in and finds a body, blood on the floors, a message written on the wall. Or something to incriminate himself.
After the day I’ve had, I no longer care about possibilities, even if they push me deeper down the abyss to hell. So, I push the door wider.
It creaks—a long, tired breath—revealing a narrow hallway. I step inside and follow the hallway into the living room
And that’s where he is.
Chad sits in an armchair, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like he’s waiting for judgment.
Like he knew I’d come.
And I wonder if he left the door open for me.
Part of me thinks he did.
Slowly, he lifts his head and our eyes lock.
His look is… wrong. Hollow and empty. Like a man on the edge of something irreversible.
It doesn’t add up. Today was supposed to be hisgrandmoment. He got one over on the great Knox Vale.
Victory should look smug. This look… It’s defeat.
He breaks the silence first. “Come here to beat me up?”
I walk toward him, slow and steady, stopping a few paces away. “Or maybe I came to kill you.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t even pretend to care.
Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy.
“I know what you did,” I continue when he says nothing.
“Obviously,” he mutters. “Or you wouldn’t be here.”
I study him. This fragile, unraveling version of him that looks like he’s given up.
Something is off.
The last time I saw him was in Italy. He fought me as best as he could. Now he looks like he’d allow me to beat him to a pulp and wouldn’t defend himself.
“Aren’t you even gonna fight?” I press.
He laughs once.Empty.“There’s nothing left to fight for, Knox Vale. You won.”
My brows pull together. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You fucked all over my plans just to get Isla to hate me.”
His exhale is barely audible. “You did that all by yourself. I just opened her eyes so she could see what she was supposed to see. And still, she chose you.”
My stomach tightens, a quiet, involuntary clench that grips me in a chokehold. “What do you mean, she chose me?”
“I saw her today. I went to her house to talk it out.” He looks past me like he’s replaying it. “And she chose you.”
I stare back at him, not quite sure what move to make next. This wasn’t how I imagined our encounter. I was ready for a showdown of blood and gore.
