Colton
The second I open the front door, I know something’s wrong.
Zara’s laugh drifts from the kitchen, but it’s lighter than usual—forced, almost brittle. Then I hear his voice.
My father’s.
Every muscle in my body tightens. He doesn’t belong here.
I step into the kitchen, and there they are: Zara at the counter, stirring something in a mixing bowl, and Callan leaning against the opposite side, just close enough that she’d have to step around him to get away.
He’s smiling that easy, smooth smile of his—the one that hides teeth.
“Colton,” he says warmly, like this is normal. “We were just talking about the wedding.”
Zara glances at me, her smile flickering. Relief flashes in her eyes, quick but sharp, like she didn’t realize how much she needed it until she saw me.
“What are you
