Aria’s POV

Carl was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs.

That was the first sign something was wrong — Carl Sterling didn’t wait for anyone. People waited for him. People adjusted for him. People scattered when they heard his footsteps.

But there he was, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed, smiling like a man who had no reason to question anything.

A performance.

Or a threat wrapped in silk.

“Good morning, darling,” he said, voice smooth enough to cut glass. “Get ...