The first sign that Chloe was done pretending came at breakfast. She didn’t shout. She didn’t throw anything. She didn’t even look at me. She sat across the table from Damian, back straight, hands folded neatly in her lap, and spoke as if I wasn’t there at all. “I’ve decided to move back into the east wing,” she said calmly. “It’s more… appropriate.” Damian paused mid-motion, coffee cup hovering just short of his lips. “Appropriate for what?” “For distance,” Chloe replied. “This house is too crowded with misunderstandings.” I almost laughed. Instead, I kept my eyes on my plate, cutting fruit I had no intention of eating. Damian set the cup down slowly. “You don’t need to exile yourself.” “I’m not,” she said coolly. “I’m setting boundaries. Something we clearly lack.” I looked up then, unab
