CHLOE’s POV

The door slammed before I even had time to breathe.

Tyler’s hand was on my wrist again, too familiar, too forceful, and he dragged me down the east hallway. His footsteps were silent, even angry. Mine weren’t. Mine echoed.

“Tyler, stop!” I yelled, trying to yank free, but he only tightened his grip, hastening his footsteps.

We descended the narrow stone steps into the wine cellar, air thick with dust, aged grapes, and secrets.

As soon as we were out of ...