LOGIN"Owen... you need to cut yourself some slack," she says gently, reaching up to lightly brush her thumb against my cheekbone. "You don't have to be the invincible counselor right now. You just lost your mom, honey. I know how much she meant to you. I know how much you loved her, and I know how hard y
I watch Sydney walk away from me, her spine perfectly straight, her head held high like a queen marching out of a ruined kingdom. Her words—sharp, icy, and dripping with disgust that makes my skin crawl—still echo in the quiet space of the dining room. "While you're busy playing love and playing h
My heart drops into my shoes, a sickening wave of nausea swirling in my stomach. He sharply pulls away after a beat, his hands coming up to grip her shoulders, his face a mix of shock and discomfort. "Camille, what are you doing here? How did you even get past the gates?" "Oh, Owen, I came the sec
I lean in across the dark wood, my jaw tight, waiting for the genius to drop some mind-blowing corporate strategy. Owen slides his glass entirely out of the way, his eyes tracking mine with a sudden, sharp intensity. "The first thing we need to do," he says, leaning his forearms on the table, "is p
I don't wait to hear another word. A blinding, white-hot rush of pure adrenaline and rage explodes in my chest. Before I even realize what I’m doing, my arm whips forward. I throw my phone across the bedroom with every ounce of strength I have left. It hits the far drywall with a sickening smack,
I sit on the edge of the mattress, the silence of my locked bedroom pressing in from all sides. My scalp still burns from where I was aggressively pulling at the tangles earlier, but I barely care. I slowly run a hand through my hair, letting out a long breath that shudders against my teeth. The r
The air in the morgue is heavy with the scent of formaldehyde and the crushing weight of finality. I stand over my mother’s body, staring at the pale, waxen stillness of her face. This isn't how it was supposed to end. She was the matriarch, the one who survived the scandals and the secrets, and now
The metallic clang of the officer’s baton against my cell bars is the only alarm clock I have these days, and frankly, I’m over it. I’m curled up on the scratchy cot, staring at a crack in the ceiling that looks vaguely like a question mark—which is fitting, because my entire life is currently one
The walls of this holding cell are sweating, and honestly, so am I. It’s been almost forty-eight hours of flickering fluorescent lights, the smell of industrial bleach, and the kind of bone-deep chill that no amount of shivering can fix. I’m huddled in the corner of the narrow cot, hugging my knee
The world doesn't end with a bang; it ends with the click of handcuffs and the retreating wail of a siren. I’m standing in the middle of the hospital corridor, and my mind is a complete, terrifying blank. It’s like someone reached into my skull and pulled the plug on every cognitive function I pos







