Alexander’s POV

If someone had told me a year ago that I’d be walking into my mother’s house with a woman like Leah beside me—someone I loved, someone I trusted—I might’ve laughed in disbelief. Or more likely, I’d have shrugged it off with that same empty smirk I used to wear like armor.

But here I was, fingers laced with hers as we stepped out of the car again, this time for a quiet Sunday lunch that felt like a new beginning.

Beatrice had insisted. After Leah met her ...