Grace’s POV
The morning after the family dinner, I woke to the sound of hushed voices in the hallway near my room. Helena’s controlled whisper, then Hunter’s deeper tone… their words indistinct, but the tension unmistakable.
Great. Nothing like waking up to marital discord when you’re living in someone else’s house.
I’d noticed it throughout dinner last night, subtle friction beneath their polished surface. The way Hunter had pushed back against Helena’s manipulations. The way she’d worked extra hard to maintain her perfect wife image. Something wasn’t right between them.
The voices faded, followed by the sound of retreating footsteps. I glanced at my phone: 6:45 AM. Too early for Helena to be up voluntarily unless something was wrong. My sister treated mornings as a personal affront—a
