Cynthia’s POV
I sit on my bed, my fingers curled into tight fists as I replay the incident at the party. The laughter, the gasps, the humiliation. My dress clinging to my body, the cold water shocking my system as I struggled to stay afloat, my vision blurring with fury and shame. The memory is so vivid it makes my blood boil.
Before I realize it, I’m on my feet, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts. My nails dig into my palms as I recall Claire standing by the pool, her gaze steady—too steady. She had pulled back her hand at the last second, as if she had sensed something. My jaw clenches. Isabel hates water. She doesn’t even know how to swim.
My eyes widen, my pulse racing as a thought slams into me. I scoff, shaking my head, but the suspicion lingers, growing stronger. Could Clair
