Maxwell POV

The past had a cruel way of creeping in, slipping through the cracks, no matter how tightly you tried to seal them.

I leaned back in my chair, the weight of the day pressing down on me. The glass of whiskey in my hand was untouched, the ice melting into oblivion—like the memories I had spent years drowning, only for them to claw their way back to the surface.

Victoria. My world, or so I thought.

Her name slithered through my mind like a whispered curse, a venomous reminder of the ...