Sienna’s POV

I’d never realized how heavy silence could be until my father’s eyes started following me everywhere.

Not words. Not direct accusations. Just silence—thick, suspicious, suffocating.

At breakfast, he’d skim the paper, his coffee untouched, gaze flicking up every few seconds as though waiting for me to confess. At dinner, he’d linger too long when I excused myself, his fork paused midair. Even when I was in my room, I swore I could feel the weight of him through the ...