Mara POV
The moment the car dropped me at my parents' apartment in Riverside District, I could finally breathe.
No marble floors. No designer clothes. No performance required.
Just the faded blue door of apartment 3C, my mother's cheerful wreath still hanging despite everything that's happened. I knock even though I have a key. This isn't my home anymore.
Mom opens the door, her face lighting up. "Mara! Come in, sweetheart."
She hugs me tight, and I inhale the familiar scent of her lavender lotion. For three seconds, I'm not Mrs. Lucien Cross. I'm just Mara Quinn, coming home.
The apartment is small—two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen barely big enough to turn around in. But it's warm. Lived in. Real.
Dad sits in his wheelchair by the window, staring out at the street below. He do
