The whole way home, I felt like I was moving through a thick, suffocating haze. The pressurized cabin of the private jet had felt like a vacuum, sucking the oxygen out of my lungs while the heavy silence between Dad and Theon weighed me down. Every time the plane hit a pocket of turbulence, my heart would lurch, not out of fear of crashing, but because the sudden movement made me acutely aware of how close they were sitting.
The memory of Theon’s fingers and Dad’s dark, hungry gaze was burned into my retinas, a permanent afterimage that made it impossible to look at either of them.
When we finally reached the house, the familiar scent of the foyer did nothing to soothe my frayed nerves. Loren was leaning against the staircase, looking entirely too relaxed for a man who had apparently be
