LAYLA’S POV
My eyes meet my dad’s for a second, and his face is twisted with everything a father shouldn’t feel toward his daughter. But it’s not new. I’m used to that expression.
The hell of it is that I should be the one who’s angry. I should be the one who hates him for everything he’s done to me so I tear my gaze away, shut the door, and focus on Mr. Thomas, the dean.
“Good day, sir,” I greet.
Ginny scoffs sharply. “Can you see that?” she says. “This is exactly what we were trying to tell you before she even got here. She walks in and can’t even be bothered to greet her own father. What kind of child does that?”
The kind of child that learned early that not every parent deserves respect. The kind whose father listens to everything a toxic woman says while ignoring his own daughte
