By the time I reached home—or the massive mansion I have no choice but to reluctantly call home—I was mentally rehearsing how I would bring up Ethan to Mom. How do you casually tell your mother that her fiancé’s son is lowkey a psycho. That he had been stalking you and has this intense stare like he’s trying to read your soul? Yeah, not exactly dinner table conversation.
I dragged myself up the driveway, the ornate iron gates behind me clicking shut like they were sealing me into some kind of luxurious prison. As much as this house screamed "perfect family," it always felt... off. Maybe it was the way the chandeliers sparkled too much or how the marble floors seemed too pristine, like no one actually lived here.
The front door creaked open as I stepped inside, the faint scent of Mom’s
