KIEL'S POINT OF VIEW
I didn't have time.
Not for explanations.
Not for apologies.
Not for the kind of healing Odette deserved.
But as I drove through the city, the streets blurring past me, I couldn't stop the memories from clawing their way to the surface.
Luke.
It always came back to him.
We used to be inseparable.
Back in high school, we were the kind of duo people envied. The golden boys. The ones who aced exams and skipped class to race motorcycles down the coast. We shared secrets, dreams, even heartbreaks. He was the first person I told about my father's underground dealings. He didn't flinch. He just nodded and said, "Then we'll build something better."
I believed him.
We both did.
College changed things.
We went to different universities—both prestigious, both demanding. We stayed in touch, but the calls grew shorter. The texts less frequent. And when we graduated, we were no longer boys with dreams.
We were heirs.
To empires.
