Ivy turned away from him so fast it felt like the room shifted.

She didn’t shout. She didn’t throw anything. She simply moved, storming toward the stairs, her boots hitting the floor hard, one after the other, as if every step was carrying years of words she never got to say. Her chest burned. Her throat felt tight. Her hands shook, and she hated that most of all.

Damien followed her immediately.

“Ivy,” he said, his voice sharp with fear. “Stop.”

She didn’t.

The rain outside grew ...