The high-rise apartment Daxton lived in was in the east section of the city. It also was the most expensive apartment complex in all of Sarias. He'd convinced himself that this had to do with the location of the building. It bordered the wealthy neighborhoods at the edge of the city, and the royal palace was about a mile down the road. If he had more of an interest in government, he could walk right to it.

His father owned this apartment complex. It had been the only time David Cavenaugh delved into any type of real estate—besides buying Cavenaugh Tower.

The apartment Daxton stayed in was on the top floor and had been designed as if two apartments connected to one. Two kitchens, two living rooms, four bathrooms, and a whopping six bedrooms. All for one person. Out of all the rooms, he only used the master bedroom, one kitchen, two of the bathrooms, and the main living room. The other half, the second floor, had never been touched. Because really, what was the point?

Right as his foot hit the living room—which was nothing more than an L-shaped couch, a glass coffee table, and a 72 inch flat screen TV—his landline rang. Only three people in the entire kingdom had the number to his landline. Two of them he called mom and dad. The third was his fiancée.

Fiancée.

The word still felt awkward and pointless to him. But, speak of the devil, when he picked up the cordless phone to peer at the caller ID it read CAROLYN, MIRAM.

Apparently, she'd decided to save him the trouble of calling her back. "Hello?" Daxton toed off his shoes, placing the phone in the crook of his shoulder.

"Daxton, darling. I've been trying to get a hold of you for the last day and a half."

"Really?" He played innocent. "I'm sorry, Carrie. I've been busy."

"So busy you can't call your fiancée?"

"Again, I'm sorry," he said instead of lying.

A gentle, exasperated sigh came over the phone. "Well, I supposed you can always make it up to me with a nice dinner."

Is that what he was going to do? Probably. He ached for the days when the only person he had to make happy was himself.

Although there was one girl he would kill to get a smile or a laugh from, and her name sure as hell wasn't Carrie.

"Have you decided on a date yet?"

"Carrie, you know how I feel about this marriage."

A loaded sigh came over the phone. "Daxton, you promised me you'd try to make this work. For both of us."

He remembered making that promise. But that had been almost a year ago. Before Kamree.

"Carrie." If she stood in front of him, he would've raised his eyebrows in warning.

The two-story glass windows echoed the inside of the room back to him. Instead of being able to see the lights of the passing cars from the street, he stared only at the reflection of himself with the phone crushed between his shoulder and ear. It was like a mirror, pushing his own face back at him. He had no choice but to stare at his own frustrated expression.

And then, all at once, Carrie's switch flipped. "I discussed this with your mother, Daxton. And she feels—"

"Why is it that every time I avoid your calls, you bring my mother into this?"

"I just want you to be honest with me." Carrie's voice took on that annoyingly whinny tone he despised.

Daxton ran a hand over his face. At what point did his life get to be such an unrecognizable mass of stress and frustration?

If his mother wasn't so fragile right now, he'd love to chew her a new one. She'd always been the first one to push into his business, but the second he tried to push into hers—like what happened at the restaurant—she got angry and pulled away.

"You want me to be honest? Fine." He moved toward the corner of the room where his acoustic guitar, a nice, heavy classic instrument with dark wood, sat in its silver stand. The coolness of the wood and strings on the fret board felt familiar and soothing under his fingers. "I want out."

There was a moment of silence. A pause. Almost as if Carrie didn't quite comprehend his words at first. "You can't want out!" she finally screeched.

"Of course I can." He arranged himself onto the couch with the guitar on his lap and plucked at a few strings. Already, his stress ebbed away. "You can't have a wedding without a groom."

"Daxton, you don't get to leave. Our parents set this up for a reason."

"And I get that. But what if something happened? Carrie, what if you met your mate?"

"You honestly don't believe in that crap, do you? Daxton, that whole mate business is made up." Carrie told him. She stayed quiet for a moment. "Unless... you do believe in it."

Daxton's movements over the guitar stopped. The answer rested on his lips; however, he couldn't make himself say it. Yes, he believed in the idea of mates. It was a simple answer. So why couldn't he say it?

"Either way," Carrie continued. "You signed a contract. You, your parents, me, and my parents."

"I know."

"If you know, then you also realize that getting out will not work." Carrie said. "Really, all you're doing is delaying the inevitable."

"Carrie, I can't do this now." He got up to settle his guitar back on its stand.

If she stood in front of him, he knew her lips would be pursed. Carrie didn't like when she didn't get the outcome she wanted. He'd learned that over the years. Over the line, he heard a glass hit a table and an exasperated sigh. "Fine."

Thank Creator. "Goodnight, Carrie."

"Call me."

He clicked the end button and threw the device onto the couch. Exhaustion dragged at his limbs and worked its way through every muscle in his body. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to fall into his king-sized bed and relax into the silk and satin sheets and just... rest.

Easier said than done.

As of late, the only sleep he'd been getting was a few hours right before dawn. The second the morning sun hit his windows, he was up and unable to get back to sleep. Then he'd force himself through the agonizing morning routine of making coffee, taking a shower, and getting dressed for work.

Maybe he needed a change. Something different. Something to bring excitement into his life and give him more meaning.

Or someone.

~

"Ree, what was mom like?"

In front of their coffee table, Kamree paused, surprised. She gripped the electric bill and Paisley's school tuition payment in her hands. "Mom?" Sometimes Kamree honestly forgot that the two of them shared parents. She'd become so used to taking care of Paisley that it almost felt like Paisley was her own daughter. "Mom was... kind. Thoughtful."

Her memories of her mother were pretty dim. It'd been so long since she'd passed away. Kamree'd spent many years trying to forget the warm memories that now caused her heartache. However, for Paisley, she'd pull together what she could.

Kamree's gaze caught the cracks in the ceiling and remained there. "She liked to do crafts a lot. Scrapbooks, that kind of thing. And baking."

Paisley's eyes had gone vacant, picturing a happy picture of a mom worth having. Which she had been.

"Much better at baking than I am." Kamree admitted.

"Ree, you don't bake."

"That's because I value your life," Kamree joked. "Really, I'm just looking out for your best interests."

Paisley went back to building the tiny figurine toy set Kamree had gotten her for Christmas. She seemed to really enjoy the set, which made Kamree glow a bit on the inside. That same feeling she got any time she did something right with Paisley. For a change.

"What was dad like?" The following question had been asked so quietly, hesitantly, that Kamree almost didn't catch it with her ears.

Thoughts flooded her mind of their father and the qualities he possessed. Kamree's teeth came together. "I don't want to talk about him."

"You never want to talk about him, Ree."

Kamree licked her lips and leaned back further into the couch. "There's nothing to say."

The way Paisley glanced up at her then, defiantly, confidently, made Kamree's resolve waiver. "What was he like? What did he like to do?"

Anger. Nostalgia. Frustration. Fear. Resentment. Sadness. She could accurately identify all the emotions flooding her system. "He was your dad. And I don't want to discuss him."

"Our. Ree, he was our dad."

"Whatever he was," She rubbed at her temple. "Just... leave it be, Paisley."

Paisley stood up, her tiny fists clenched. She'd still hadn't changed from her school uniform and the plaid skirt had become wrinkled and creased in a couple of spots. "We have to talk about it sometime. I want to know. And you can't keep this from me." Paisley rushed from the room, charging into the apartment's only bedroom. The door slammed.

Too young. The words rattled around in Kamree's mind. That was her justification. It seemed solid enough for her. Paisley was just too young.

Her shoulders slumped. Parents never talked about how much parenting sucked. Little children didn't understand the world in the same way adults did. And while sometimes that was novel, most of the time it put a strain on the parents. Because kids just didn't see the bigger picture.

Sometime later, Kamree fell asleep.

The dreams she had tormented her. People came to knock on the door, dragging her away. Away from her apartment. Away from Paisley.

It wasn't the first time she'd had dreams like that. And it wasn't the first time she'd woken up with a thrashing heart beat and sweat matting her forehead.

But it was the first time she'd dreamt of her father.

In the dream, Paisley had been sitting at the kitchen table coloring a picture of a mermaid. Kamree had sat next to her, watching her with a contented smile as her colors brought the two-dimensional picture to life. Then someone pounded on the door.

Even through the dream, she could feel how it startled her and sharply sent her heart beating faster. Her dream self knew the person at the door would not be good.

Cold had flooded her veins as she stood up and slowly made her way to the door. The vision tunneled until everything else in the dream faded and light cast a spotlight onto the wood of the door.

She'd stepped up to the peephole and carefully looked through.

The face staring back at her impaled her with pure icy hot fear. She recognized him. That facial structure was the same one she saw in the mirror every morning.

But what sent her jumping up out of the dream and straight into reality wasn't the look in his crazed eyes.

It was the creepy, wide smile that seeped deep into her bones.