Cade:
Dinner felt like a performance.
Logan sat at the head of the table, flipping through his phone between bites, while Riley and I traded neutral smiles like we hadn’t been unraveling for twenty-four hours straight.
She laughed at something he said—too quick, too bright—and I forced myself to smirk along, stabbing my fork into the pile of roasted chicken like it was the most fascinating thing I’d ever seen.
Every move was calculated. Every glance timed. Don’t look at her too long. Don’t let your voice soften when you say her name. Don’t give Logan a single reason to sharpen the knife he was already holding behind his back.
But under the table, my leg bounced restlessly, nerves wired too tight. And across from me, Riley twisted her napkin in her lap, the only tell she couldn’t seem
