Brandon's POV
I thought I was emotionally ready to return home, but the truth was, I had spent the last three months becoming a master of self-deception. I had convinced myself that eighty-thousand-watt stadium lights, roaring crowds, and six different time zones in four weeks could burn out the memory of Zoe. I had believed that if I played guitar loud enough and moved fast enough, the hollow ache in my chest would vanish.
It was a total, unadulterated lie.
The moment I stepped through the front door of our family mansion, the tour adrenaline evaporated, leaving me completely exposed. The silence of the house hit me like a physical blow. Everywhere I looked, the ghosts of our past were waiting in the shadows. The grand staircase where she'd stood, the quiet hallway where her voice used to drift—the memories clung to the walls like an indelible ink stain that refused to be scrubbed clean.
