Chapter 3

April Acevedo POV:

A smile stretched my lips, a grotesque, painful thing that felt like it was tearing the skin at the corners of my mouth. The tears continued to fall, hot and silent. "So I should be grateful? For all these years you've so graciously tolerated me?"

Harman sighed, a long, theatrical sound of a man burdened beyond endurance. He took a step toward me, his hand outstretched as if to offer a comfort that was now a poisoned chalice. "April, that' s not what I-"

His words were sliced in half by the shrill, insistent ringing of his phone.

It wasn't his usual ringtone. It was a frantic, panicked chime I' d never heard before. He glanced at the screen, and the color drained from his face. It was Kennedy.

"What is it?" he barked into the phone, his voice tight with alarm.

Her voice, thin and terrified, was audible even from where I stood. "Harman! It's Dale! He's been arrested! They're saying it's fraud... something about the campaign donations... Oh God, Harman, what's happening?"

Dale. Her younger brother. A twenty-year-old kid with a chip on his shoulder and a history of minor scrapes with the law.

Harman' s face, already pale, became a waxy, translucent white. "Where are you?" he demanded, his political composure shattering into raw panic. He was already moving toward the door, grabbing his keys from the bowl on the console table.

"I' m at the downtown precinct," she sobbed. "They said... they said my name is on the paperwork!"

He was at the door, his hand on the knob, ready to bolt. To run to her. To save her.

"Don't you dare," I whispered, the words barely audible.

He froze, his back to me.

"Don't you dare walk out that door, Harman." My voice was stronger now, laced with a cold fury.

He turned slowly, his face a maelstrom of fear and fury. "This is not the time, April. This is serious."

"Oh, it's serious," I said, taking a step toward him. "It's campaign finance fraud, isn't it? Illegal donations funneled through a shell company. And you, you brilliant, reckless fool, you put her name on it."

His jaw tightened. He didn't have to confirm it. I was the one who had taught him how to set up those accounts, how to navigate the gray areas of campaign finance law. And he had taken my knowledge and used it to protect himself and endanger her.

"You have to fix this," he said, his voice low and urgent. He took a step back toward me, his eyes pleading. "You're the only one who can. You have to bury it. Make it go away. For me. For the campaign."

He wanted me to use my mind, my skills, the very essence of my value, to save his mistress. To clean up the mess he made while betraying me.

The word 'reckless' echoed in my mind, and suddenly, it wasn't this moment I was seeing. It was another night, ten years ago. The screech of tires on wet pavement. The horrific crunch of metal. The smell of gasoline and rain. My brother, Leo, slumped in the passenger seat, his life bleeding out while a young, terrified Harman Sandoval sobbed behind the wheel.

He had been reckless then, too. Driving too fast, showing off, trying to impress me. And I had covered for him. I had lied to the police. I had told them a deer had run out into the road. I had buried the truth to save his future, and in doing so, I had buried a part of myself.

Harman saw the flicker of old pain in my eyes. And he used it.

"Don't do this now, April," he warned, his voice hardening. "Don't fall apart on me. Not now. Think about what' s at stake."

He was using my trauma, the deepest wound of my life, as leverage. He was telling me that my grief was an inconvenience to his ambition.

I looked at him-at this man for whom I had sacrificed my brother's memory, my career, my heart. The love didn't just die. It turned to ash and blew away, leaving behind something cold, hard, and sharp.

A calm settled over me, so profound it was terrifying.

"You want me to bury it?" I asked, my voice chillingly serene.

He nodded, a desperate hope dawning in his eyes. "Yes. Please, April."

"Fine," I said, the word as clean and sharp as a shard of glass from our broken wedding photo. "I'll bury it."

He let out a breath of relief, but he didn't see what was in my eyes. He didn't understand the promise I was making to myself.

I will bury it all, Harman. I will bury you, your career, and your pathetic little romance so deep that no one will ever find the pieces.

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