I'd warned Noah. He didn't believe me. He would.
The Stone family mansion loomed at the end of the driveway like a mausoleum for the living. It was beautiful, pristine, and terrifyingly cold—a perfect architectural metaphor for the people who lived inside.
I gripped the door handle of Noah’s Aston Martin until my knuckles turned white. The nausea that had been my constant companion for four months surged, acid and hot.
"Breathe," Noah said, his hand leaving the gear shift to cover my knee. "It'll be fine. I can handle your parents, Aria. I handle sharks for a living."
"It's not you I'm worried about," I whispered, staring at the imposing front doors. "It's me."
He glanced at me, confused. "You're the strongest woman I know. You built an empire of code. You're growing a human."
"They
