Brandon's POV
I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and a glass from the cabinet. For a moment, I stood in the quiet kitchen, staring at the reflection of the overhead light on the glass. The house felt strangely still, as if the walls themselves had heard everything that had just happened upstairs.
My cheek still burned faintly where my mother had slapped me, but that wasn't what weighed on me the most. It was Zoe—the look on her face in the hallway, the uncertainty, the guilt. I exhaled slowly and then turned to head upstairs.
When I reached her door, I paused, my hand hovering over the doorknob. For a moment, I just stood there, breathing, letting everything sink in: the argument, Zara's threat, the video, and Zoe hearing God knows how much of it. I sighed heavily before finally opening the door.
"Hey," I said quietly as I stepped inside, closing it gently behind me.
