Elena's POV

The noise doesn’t stop all at once.

It lingers. Whispers. Sharp gasps. The scrape of chairs against the floor. Someone drops a glass and it shatters near the edge of the room, but no one bends to clean it up. All eyes are fixed on my father.

Harry Prescott.

Standing at the front of the room like a man who has finally decided he’s done being quiet.

Victoria is still crying. Or pretending to. Her face is pressed into Mary’s shoulder, fingers clenched into the fabric of her ...