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He.
Timothy.
The name hangs in the air between us. It clicks into place with a heavy finality that settles deep in my soul.
We’ll never be completely whole until he’s back. No matter how angry we are. No matter how betrayed we feel. Timothy is still part of this. Part of us.
And I don’t think we can avoid facing the rift between us for much longer.
25
Arianette
The newspaper is on the dining room table when we enter the room for breakfast. Right between the platters of eggs and bacon. Hunter notices it first, picking it up, and reading aloud.
After Weeks of Silence Timothy Maddox Speaks
To the citizens of Forsyth,
I am recovering nicely from the injuries I sustained in December and wish to thank everyone who has sent well-wishes during this difficult time.
Regarding the recent act of violence I was involved in, I want to assure the public that the perpetrators have been dealt with and are no longer at large. The House of Night remains in dedicated and stable hands, as it always has been.
As for the Maddox Hotel, it continues to operate smoothly under the excellent leadership of my hand-selected management team. There is no cause for concern.
My focus, and I believe the focus of every citizen in this city, should remain on bringing home any remaining women who are still missing and not on unfounded witch hunts or manufactured scandals. Forsyth has long had a habit of turning on itself, but it is time for us to come together and put an end to this division.
Timothy Maddox
Underneath the statement is a large photo of the three of us sitting in the balcony at the Fury the other night. Damon’s arm slides around my shoulders right when I read the caption beneath the photo:
“Does the new King have what it takes?”
The silence in the dining room is heavy.
“Wow,” I whisper, staring at the paper as Hunter sets it down on the table.
Damon picks it up next, scanning the article and Timothy’s statement with sharp, narrowed eyes. His jaw tightens, the muscle flexing beneath the silver ring in his lip. “Damage control. That’s all this is.”
Hunter drops into his chair, elbows braced on the table as he stares at the front page. “At least he’s no longer hiding. That’s something, at least.”
I cross my arms tightly over my chest, unable to tear my gaze away from the large photo of the three of us at the Fury. We look strong up there in the balcony–Damon’s arm draped possessively around my shoulders, Hunter’s hand lying on my upper thigh. But the caption underneath feels like a slap.
“Do you think people are really questioning you already?” I ask Damon quietly.
He sets the paper down with a sigh and drags a hand through his dark hair. “Of course they are. I’m young. I’m new. And I’m not him.” He gestures toward Timothy’s polished headshot. “They’ve had decades to get used to the idea of the Baron King as this untouchable, mysterious figure. Finding out it was Timothy Maddox was probably more impressive than shocking. Now it’s just… me.”
The raw edge in his voice makes my heart squeeze. I step closer and reach for his hand, threading our fingers together. “You’re doing a good job, Damon. A really good job.”
He looks down at me, and some of the tension in his shoulders softens. “Thank you,” he murmurs, squeezing my fingers. “But perception matters in this city. It always has.”
Hunter is still staring at the newspaper, brows furrowed. “He wants the attention off him and back on the missing girls. That part feels calculated.”
“Maybe,” Damon says, glancing over at me. His thumb strokes over my knuckles. “But if he can talk to the press, then he can talk to us.”
“You think so?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Damon’s eyes meet mine, steady and resolute. Hunter doesn’t look surprised–he’s been waiting for this moment too.
