Alexander’s POV

Facepalming and still squatting, I take unsteady, deep breaths, counting seconds in my head to calm my nerves.

My blood boils with rage, my pulse pumps with bitterness, filling my mind with ideas of retribution. In my head, the photographer has been beaten to a pulp and left to bleed on the cold, wet ground. But I made a vow to myself to never resort to violence, no matter how badly I want to, so I don’t ever become like my father. It’s been one of the hardest things ...