"I'm going to talk to mother," Brandon said softly, his fingers tracing the edge of a gilded frame. "Don't miss me too much, Lyse."
He leaned forward and pressed a reverent kiss to the centerpiece, a large, glossy photograph of Lyse smiling at some long-forgotten charity gala. The image had been taken candidly, her head tilted slightly, laughter caught mid-bloom.
It was the most beautiful thing he owned.
His eyes lingered on the wall.
Dozens of photographs.
All paparazzi shots he had purchased quietly through third parties, then enlarged, reframed, curated with obsessive precision. He had turned the entire east wall of his apartment into something sacred.
An altar.
Lyse at charity events.Lyse stepping out of a car.Lyse laughing with children.Lyse beside Levi. that one partially trimmed so Levi's hand was not visible at the edge.
He had cut him out where he could.
Brandon stepped back to admire the display.
It felt almost peaceful in here.
