Two days ago:
Darcy opened the door and stepped inside the villa. A quiet heaviness had settled over him since lunch with Micah. His footsteps echoed faintly through the empty hallway, reminding him how alone he was. He exhaled a slow, shaky breath and ran a hand through his dark hair.
Micah hadn't let him speak. That expression replayed in his mind like a broken record. During lunch, after Micah introduced him as his brother, Darcy had tried to protest, to show his displeasure, to stop Micah from categorising him as a brother. Yet, Micah had snapped at him, begging him to stop.
Darcy clenched his jaw. He had obeyed, albeit reluctantly. He could never go against Micah.
But it hurt. Why didn't Micah care about the feelings he had swallowed for so long?
He walked up the stairs slowly, one hand trailing against the banister. His heart felt restless. He couldn't stop thinking about Clyde's face. That calm, assured smile. The way he looked at Micah.
Darcy's throat burned.
