Twice Taken: 12. The Confrontation

The house was thick with silence when Max returned from the late-night walk he hadn’t intended to take. Every room he passed seemed darker than usual, shadows stretching unnaturally across walls. His thoughts were a storm, circling, building, until he could no longer contain it.

He found Elena in the living room, perched on the edge of the sofa, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her eyes were red, rimmed with exhaustion and fear. Max stopped a few steps away, his gaze sharp, heavy with hurt.

“Elena,” he said, voice low but firm, carrying the weight of all the unspoken hours, days, weeks. “We need to talk. Now.”

She didn’t move. Her throat tightened. She knew this moment had been coming, and yet, facing it was like staring down a cliff.

Max stepped closer. “Don’t lie to me. I saw the messages. I’ve felt it—the distance, the tension, the secrecy. I know something is going on. And I won’t pretend I don’t.”

Her breath caught. She had hoped, prayed, that som