Alpha Doyle
On our way downstairs, we stopped at the laundry room.
I handed our wet clothes to Mary, one of our housekeepers, and thanked her before continuing toward the living room.
The moment we stepped through the doorway, Sean stood.
He started walking toward us.
Lena stopped dead.
I felt the tension roll through her body before she even said a word.
My hand slipped from her arm, and I gently ran it across her back, hoping the gesture would reassure her.
Instead, she flinched.
Hard.
She immediately pulled away from my touch.
I froze.
So did Sean.
For a split second, we exchanged a look.
He’d noticed it too.
That tiny reaction told me more than Lena probably realised.
She was afraid of being touched.
Afraid of me.
Afraid of Sean.
Perhaps afraid of all of us.
Sean st
