ANTHONY'S POV
—
Back at home, the storm brewing in my chest didn't settle. It only thickened.
The door creaked open as I stepped inside quietly. The lights were off. I was halfway through unbuttoning my shirt when I heard the soft thud of footsteps in the hallway.
Alicia stood in the doorway—arms crossed, phone clutched in one hand.
"Hey," I said, my voice softening without warning. It felt good to see her—especially after what happened with Mia. I let go of the buttons, the shirt hanging open across my chest.
"How was your day?"
Night had long swallowed the sky before I returned, hours after leaving the garage and stopping by the office. I'd expected quiet, maybe even rest.
But not this.
She didn't speak.
Her face—stoic, unreadable—was nothing like the Alicia I knew. No warm smile. No rush into my arms like someone who'd waited.
