Sienna’s POV

His eyes were colder than the air outside. And Angela’s perfume still lingered in the room.

That was how my morning had started, and the day never managed to recover. My father hadn’t yelled—he rarely did—but the silence was heavier than raised voices could ever be. He’d only said a handful of words, measured and tight: “We’ll talk later.” Which was never a good thing.

By the time dinner rolled around, I felt like a prisoner walking toward the gallows. Every ...