The steam rose thick around him, fogging the glass and clinging to the mirrors. Hot water coursed over his back in punishing streams, but it did little to burn away the cold that had settled deep inside him since leaving that wretched restaurant.
His mother’s voice still echoed in his ears. Polished. Rehearsed. Venomously sweet.
“You look like your father more each day. I wonder if that means you’ll fail me too.”
Sebastian clenched his jaw.
He hadn’t meant to shut Isabelle out. Hadn’t planned to snap. But the second he saw the question forming in her eyes—What happened? What hurt you?—he panicked.
Because he didn’t know how to explain that some pain wasn’t current. It was inherited. Generational. Buried beneath layers of armor he didn’t remember putting on.
The wounds Evelyn Hale had
