Lyla
When I walked into the kitchen, and I saw Michael’s uncle standing by the door, I almost said hello out of habit. The look he gave me killed the word in my throat. His eyes dragged over me like I was something to taste, not greet. The tension in the room was heavy, and I knew things between them were about to escalate. Michael’s shoulders were tight, his jaw locked. I could feel the shift in him. He was balancing on a thin line between control and violence. With me in heat, any hint of disrespect was like teasing a hungry dog with food.
It frightened me a bit when Michael punched the wall. I understood why he was upset. Honestly, I’m glad he hit the wall and not his uncle’s face. I thought that if I called out his name, my voice would have soothed him. I should have learned from t
