The storm didn't stop that night.
It softened.
Shifted from violent to steady.
Like the sky itself had exhausted its rage.
Noah stood beneath the overhang outside the mansion long after the rain thinned into a mist. His clothes were damp. His hair clung to his forehead. He could still feel the weight of Rafe's gaze from earlier—uncertain, raw, almost afraid.
He didn't look back again.
If he did, he might break.
And Noah had built his life on not breaking.
Inside, the mansion hummed with quiet tension.
Vinny paced the sitting room.
Matthew sat still.
Which was worse.
"You're too calm," Vinny muttered.
Matthew's eyes didn't lift from the glass of whiskey in his hand. "Panic won't make this clearer."
Vinny crossed his arms. "He's nineteen."
"I know."
"He just found out the man he works for might be his father."
"I know."
"And Rafe—"
"—is finally seeing consequences he can't buy his way out of."
Vinny exhaled sharply. "You're not wrong."
