SARAPHINA'S POV

Rain hammered my skin as I trudged from the car to the estate, each drop piercing through my sleeves like tiny needles. The Omegas scurried around me with the bags, their concerned glances sliding off my indifference.

The door to my room stood ajar. My stomach knotted.

That theatrical bastard.

I pushed inside, rainwater cascading from my coat hem to pool at my feet. There he was—my grandfather, Killian—perched on the edge of my bed like a vulture, my diary splayed open in ...