The estate was quiet after the dinner ended, but quiet in the Hawthorne household never meant peace. It meant tension coiled tight beneath the surface, waiting for someone to strike the first blow.
Scarlett lingered in the hallway longer than she intended, replaying the night in her head. James’s grip on her wrist still burned, the echo of his arrogance clinging to her skin. She could still feel Ethan’s eyes on her, the weight of his words heavy in her chest.
“Scarlett.”
Her father’s voice snapped her from her thoughts. Michael stood at the end of the corridor, hands clasped behind his back. His presence filled the space like a storm cloud.
“Walk with me,” he ordered.
Scarlett obeyed without question, trailing him into his study. The room smelled of leather and aged scotch, the fire i
