ANTHONY POV
The worst part was that Allison hadn't screamed.
Anthony thought about that more than he wanted to.
He'd imagined their final conversation a hundred different ways before she'd walked into that room.
Anger.
Tears.
Accusations.
Maybe hatred.
He'd prepared himself for hatred.
Hatred would've been easier.
Hatred meant something remained between them.
Instead, Allison had sat across from him and looked at him like she was finally seeing the correct version of a picture she'd spent too long holding upside down.
No confusion.
No desperate need for answers.
No love.
And somehow—
not even much hatred.
Anthony sat alone on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees.
The room wasn't technically a cell.
Not yet.
His attorneys had made sure of that.
But his movements were restricted.
His passport had been surrendered.
His accounts were under review.
His name appeared in more headlines every day.
