MELISSA’S POV

“Xavier, what’s wrong?” I asked softly, crouching down beside him. The smell of alcohol hit me before anything else—it clung to his breath, his clothes, the very air around him. My chest tightened as I saw the half-empty bottle of whiskey resting limply in his hand. His knuckles were white from the way he clutched it, as if it was the only thing keeping him steady.

“Why are you in this state?” My voice cracked as I reached out.

He lifted the bottle to his ...