Elena's POV

I was in the kitchen, busy chopping vegetables and pretending my hands were not shaking.

Dinner was supposed to be normal. That was the lie I kept telling myself as the knife hit the cutting board over and over again. Normal meant routine. Normal meant pretending our house was not being watched, that our family was not falling apart in slow motion, and that my twin sister was not feeding every detail of our lives straight to the woman who wanted me gone.

Victoria had left about half ...