~ Amara ~
The silence in Moore Crest usually felt like a heavy blanket, but today it felt like a noose. I stood in the center of my bedroom, the twelve-page contract crumpled in my hand. The ink on the page was dry and permanent, unlike the promises my father had made to me back in Linden Row. He hadn't saved the family legacy; he had sold it to Gideon for eight million dollars and a clean ledger.
I heard the heavy thud of the front door downstairs. Gideon was home. Usually, I would wait for him to go to the west wing, keeping my presence as small as a shadow. Not tonight.
I found him in the library, pouring a glass of scotch. The amber liquid swirled against the crystal, catching the sharp light of the chandelier. He didn't look up when I entered. He never did unless there was a camera
