The morning sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains in Sierra’s bedroom, but the brightness felt oppressive instead of warm. She hadn’t slept. Her pillow was still damp from tears, and her body ached from the endless tossing and turning. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the cufflink gleaming on Damien’s desk like a loaded gun.
Her chest clenched at the memory of her mother’s stare over dinner, sharp and knowing. Vanessa hadn’t said the words outright, but she didn’t need to. Sierra felt her mother peeling her open with just a glance, cutting into her like a scalpel.
A soft knock startled her. She sat up, clutching the sheets.
“Sierra, honey? May I come in?” Vanessa’s voice drifted through the door, smooth and calm, as though it were any ordinary morning.
Sierra’s throat we
