Elena’s POV
The automatic doors slammed behind me like a gunshot, cutting through the hum of the mall. I needed air or maybe I needed to run far away from the mess of fake smiles and sparkling displays my mother called a “bonding day.” Every step I took felt heavier, like my anger was trying to drag me down into the ground.
Then I heard it: the sharp staccato of heels echoing too close. My chest tightened. I turned slowly. She was there, framed by the bright store lights, a smirk plastered on her face like she owned the damn world.
“Elena, wait!” Her voice was sharp, demanding, impossible to ignore.
I didn’t stop. I kept walking, heart hammering, eyes forward. “I’m done.”
She was suddenly in front of me, blocking my path, one hand shooting out to grab my wrist like a vice.
