Aria's POV
The taxi slows to a stop in front of my father's house, the tires crunching softly against the gravel driveway. The familiar gold lettering on the stone pillar glinted under the late afternoon sun.
I let out a long sigh before opening the car.
I hate coming here.
Not because this house holds bad memories, it doesn't. I grew up here. Every corner is familiar. Every hallway carries echoes of my childhood. But lately, every visit feels like walking into a courtroom where I am always the accused.
My father has been calling for days.
"Come home. We need to talk. Don't avoid this."
I had dodged him with excuses for as long as I could. Work. Headaches. Appointments.
Anything.
But today, I ran out of lies.
I paid the driver, stepped out onto the driveway,
