POV: Alexander

I was halfway to the stairs when I saw him.

Richard.

Leaning against the iron gate like he owned the place, his black coat half-open, his hands in his pockets. Even from here, I could see that smug twist of his mouth.

I didn’t bother calling out. I walked straight through the back door, my steps measured, the crunch of gravel under my shoes carrying across the quiet yard.

“Alexander,” he greeted, voice low, as though we were old friends meeting by chance.

“We’re not ...