Annabelle stormed through the grand, cold halls of the Morano residence, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor like a ticking bomb. Her jaw was clenched so tight it could’ve cracked walnuts. The air in this house always felt heavy, like it was pressing down on her chest, but today it was suffocating. She could still hear the echoes of their laughter from dinner—those snide remarks, those sideways glances at Derek, her husband. Her Derek. The man who commanded respect everywhere else but here, in this godforsaken house, where his own family treated him like a ghost. A powerful man reduced to a punchline. It made her blood boil.
But that wasn’t even the worst of it. Where was Martha? Her foster mother, the woman who’d raised her, the woman who was supposed to be here, safe and
