All Chapters of SINFUL SALVATION : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

The morning had started like a prayer.Drake woke before the sun, as he always did, his body still programmed to rise with the dawn even after five years of peace. The bedroom was quiet, the curtains drawn, the only sound the soft, even breathing of Mason beside him. He turned his head on the pillow, watching his husband sleep.Mason was thirty-seven now, but he still looked like the man Drake had fallen in love with—soft brown hair falling across his forehead, sea-green eyes closed in peaceful slumber, a faint smile tugging at his lips. The scars had faded over the years, but they were still there, a roadmap of survival etched into his skin. Drake reached out, his fingers hovering just above Mason’s cheek, not wanting to wake him.This is everything, he thought. This is the life I never deserved.He slipped out of bed, pulled on a pair of worn jeans and a white shirt, and padded downstairs. The house was still, wrapped in the soft golden light of early morning. He made coffee—black,

Drake stood outside Leo's bedroom door for a long time.His hand hovered over the wood, trembling. He could hear his son moving inside—the creak of the bed, the soft thud of a book being set down. Leo knew he was there. He was waiting.Just knock, Drake told himself. Just open the door. Just tell him the truth.But the truth was a monster. And Drake had spent thirty years trying to keep it locked in the dark.He knocked."Leo?"Silence."Can I come in?"A long pause. Then, quietly: "It's your house."Drake closed his eyes. He opened the door.Leo was sitting on his bed, his back against the headboard, his knees pulled up to his chest. He was still wearing his school clothes—a rumpled blue sweater, jeans with a hole in the knee. His grey eyes were red-rimmed, but he wasn't crying. He was just staring at Drake with an expression that was far too old for a ten-year-old."I'm sorry," Drake said. "I should have told you the truth from the beginning."Leo didn't respond.Drake walked to the

Three days passed.Three days of silence. Three days of closed doors. Three days of Leo slipping past Drake in the hallway without a word, without a glance, without anything.Drake tried everything.He made Leo's favorite breakfast—chocolate chip pancakes with extra syrup. Leo ate them in silence, his grey eyes fixed on his plate. He left notes under Leo's pillow—I love you. I'm here when you're ready. Leo didn't mention them. He offered to take Leo to the garden, to teach him how to prune the roses, to show him how to plant sunflowers like Elara had. Leo shook his head and retreated to his room.He hates me, Drake thought. I've lost him.Mason tried to help.He sat with Leo at night, reading him stories. He took him to the shop, letting him water the ferns and talk to the succulents. He held him when Leo cried—cried without explaining why, cried the way children cry when they don't understand the pain in their chest.But even Mason couldn't bridge the gap."I don't know what to do,"

The elevator ride was silent.Drake stood with his back against the wall, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His grey eyes were fixed on the numbers above the door as they climbed—twelve, thirteen, fourteen. Each ding was a countdown. Each floor brought him closer to his son.Mason stood beside him, his hand resting on Drake's arm. He didn't speak. There was nothing to say.The elevator stopped at the twenty-third floor.The doors slid open.The hallway was sleek and cold—marble floors, glass walls, the kind of sterile elegance that Catherine Ashford wore like a second skin. At the end of the hall, a pair of heavy oak doors bore the name of her law firm in polished gold letters.Drake walked toward them.A receptionist looked up from her desk, her eyes widening. "Sir, do you have an appointment?"Drake didn't answer. He pushed through the doors.The office was vast—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, a massive mahogany desk, shelves lined with leather-bound books.

They drove home in silence.Leo sat in the back seat, his backpack clutched to his chest, his grey eyes fixed on the window. The city gave way to the suburbs, the suburbs gave way to the rolling hills and quiet roads that led to their home. The sun was rising, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold.Drake kept glancing at Leo in the rearview mirror. His son looked small—smaller than he had ever seen him. The defiance was gone. The anger was gone. What was left was a quiet, fragile exhaustion.Mason reached back and took Leo’s hand.“We’ll be home soon,” he said softly.Leo nodded. He didn’t speak.---When they pulled into the driveway, the garden was waiting for them.The roses were still blooming. The lavender was still swaying in the breeze. The sunflowers were still turning their faces toward the sun—as if nothing had changed, as if the world had not tilted on its axis.But everything had changed.Marie met them at the door. She didn’t ask questions. She just pulled Leo into