Brielle’s POV
Dinner with Fiona and Sean felt like willingly walking into a lion’s den with nothing but a butter knife. And still, I went.
I didn’t do it for closure. Or for forgiveness. I did it for the cracks. The tension. The little things that get said when people are trying too hard to look normal. I needed answers—and something told me those answers lived in the silence between Fiona’s words and Sean’s eyes.
The restaurant Fiona chose was upscale, tucked away in a quiet neighborhood that screamed "old money" and generational denial. It had warm wood paneling, low lighting, and a string quartet playing in the corner like the background music to an unfolding scandal.
They were already seated when I arrived. Fiona in cream silk, her posture perfect but knuckles white where she clutc
