The first sign was subtle, almost forgettable, an odd pause during brunch at the terrace, when one of Vanessa’s friends leaned too long on a question.
“College boys must chase after you, Sierra,” Mrs. Whitmore said with a tinkling laugh, spooning berries onto her plate. “Though I suppose they don’t stand a chance. Not with a man like Damien always hovering about.”
The words were innocent enough, and the smile was even kinder. But Sierra felt the barb beneath. She glanced at Damien across the table, his face unreadable, his hand steady as he poured himself coffee. He did not flinch.
Vanessa, meanwhile, merely smiled, sipping her mimosa.
The world had shifted, Sierra realized. Her mother’s words were no longer confined to their home. The poisoned thread had been tugged, and now the fabr
