Page 126 of Adam
“Good to see you too, Grayson.”
Grayson pulls back and holds Adam’s face tenderly, looking deep into his eyes.
“Welcome home.”
Strangely, Adam doesn’t throw out one of his usual comebacks.
I rock back on my heels, then take a step away, eyes flicking anywhere but them. I rub my thumb against my palm, swallow, and hover awkwardly.
They don’t notice me. Adam’s face softens, and the man’s smile lingers, like this is something they’ve been missing.
Home …
I’m wondering if this is the place where he grew up, and that’s why he said it’s the place where everything began. But what is that “everything”?
“Apologies for not introducing myself,” Grayson says softly, his eyes squinting with a genuine smile behind them. “I’m Grayson.”
He extends his hand to me, and without thinking, I shake it.
“I’m Isabella.”
“I suppose you’re the reason that brought him back.” He cups my hand warmly. “Thank you for that. You’re welcome here.”
Despite everything that’s happened, Grayson still draws a soft smile from me. It comes uninvited, and I can’t control it.
Maybe it’s his warmth, the unguarded curve of his smile, the quiet, fatherly way he looks at us. Whatever it is, it stirs something old and unfamiliar at the same time. Something I’ve never witnessed and didn’t realize I missed until now.
“Shut up, old man,” Adam says lazily.
“Language, boy,” he reprimands him sternly. “Isabella is not to hear that from you.”
I smile again as Adam answers with a scoff and a lazy eye-roll, brushing past us as he steps into the mansion.
“He can be an ass sometimes,” Grayson whispers playfully.
“ThatI know.”
He gives a low chuckle.
“Come along, dear. I’ll show you around.”
There was always something wrong with this house. It never pretended to be a home. It was a place to endure. Four walls designed for survival and not safety. Nothing here reminds me of anything good. No corner holds laughter or childhood games in the way it should.
Only corruption soaked into the floors, sickness in the air, and a silence that learned my name.
What an irony that this fortress, built to imprison, is the only place that can keep her safe.
I walk around it, trying to remember a bright memory—anything. Maybe when I played in the yard with Cain. Ah, I was a fucked-up little kid back then, lying in the dirt, pretending I was dead just to watch him panic.
He never beat me the way he should have. He was always protective of me. Him and Judas, despite Cain being an ass.
I guess that’s why Mother had a soft spot for him, why she only ever smiled when he was around.
Fucking mama’s boy.
I stood there and learned what it felt like to want something I was never meant to have. I learned early what it meant to be spared but never chosen.
I step into the living room and look around. It’s still elegant, still emptied of people. Only now, it’s calm and doesn’t feel haunted the way it used to.
