SLOANE
I didn’t hold a conversation with my father as I made my way up the stairs to my room.
I couldn’t.
My throat felt tight. My chest felt heavy. Every step felt slower than the one before it. I kept replaying the image of Adrian walking away earlier that night. His jaw tight. His shoulders stiff. His eyes dark with anger.
Whatever conversation he had with Damien—his stepbrother—it must have gone wrong.
Really wrong.
I reached my bedroom and closed the door behind me. The soft click echoed louder than it should have. My room was warm, but I still felt cold. Christmas lights hung around my window frame, glowing softly. Red and gold ornaments sat on my dresser. Everything looked peaceful. It was New Year, but the Christmas scent still lingered on.
I didn’t feel peaceful at all.
