chloe’s POV
The house was quiet, but my office was alive with shadows. The lamp on my desk cast a warm circle of light across the mahogany surface, glinting off the gold edges of the picture frames scattered there. Jason as a boy, gap-toothed and beaming. My late husband, Heny, standing proud with his arm around me at one of our galas. And then a more recent photograph, Jason and Ava, staged smiles, fingers laced for the cameras.
I stared at that one longer than the rest, my lips pressing into a thin line. Something in her smile had always bothered me. Too tight. Too practiced. As if she was forcing her lips into place while her heart remained elsewhere.
I leaned back in my leather chair, the creak of it breaking the silence. On the desk in front of me lay a spread of folders, some old,
