Aira sat at the wooden dining table, staring down at her plate, barely picking at her food. Across the room, she could feel Dominic’s heavy presence filling the space. He sat as if he had owned the room for decades, casually conversing with her father. His voice was low, smooth, and deep—dripping into her ears like poisoned honey.
Her family felt the shift in the air.
Her mother, sitting right beside her, gave her a cautious sideways glance. The dining room was thick with a suffocating tension—an unsettling edge none of them could name. Aira watched the way her father’s shoulders held rigid, how his eyes kept darting nervously toward Dominic, who lounged back in his chair with an posture so relaxed it bordered on open arrogance.
It wasn’t just her parents. Even her younger brother seeme
