His brows knit together. “She’s still here?”
“Yes.”
The answer is final.
My jaw tightens. “Did you bring it?”
He doesn’t need to ask whatitis.
Jaxon takes a long pull from his beer, then walks over to where he dropped his riding bag. He crouches, unzips it, and pulls out the manila envelope like it weighs more than paper ever should.
“Khai,” he says carefully, straightening again. “I didn’t open it. But I need to ask you one last time, are you sure you want to dig this up?”
He hesitates, choosing his words. “Some things stay buried for a reason.”
I take a slow sip of whisky, welcoming the burn.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m sure.”
I glance down the hallway, toward the bedroom.
Toward her.
Jaxon follows my gaze, understanding dawning in his eyes. He doesn’t say it, but we both know the truth now:
I have leverage.
And my father will see it the moment he realises she exists. If he doesn’t already.
Jaxon crosses the room and hands me the envelope, his expression tight with concern. I set my glass down and take it, the paper warm from his grip.
I walk into the living room, the city stretching endlessly beyond the windows, and lower myself onto the couch. The envelope rests in my hands, unopened, like a confession waiting to be spoken.
My phone buzzes.
I don’t have to look to know who it is.
Father:
I need you and Jaxon here. Now.
Ahumourless smile curves my mouth.
“Well,” I say quietly, dropping the envelope onto the coffee table, “looks like he knows the file’s gone already.”
I stand and head for the door, grabbing my motorbike keys on the way. “Let’s go. You know he hates being kept waiting.”
Just before we leave, I detour, quick, deliberate.
I write two notes. One for the bedside table. One for the coffee machine. I switch the coffee maker on, listening to it hum to life.
I hate the idea of her waking up and thinking I left without a thought.
Because the truth is far worse.
I didn’t leave because I didn’t care.
I left because everything I care about is now in danger.
