NorthHe glanced at himself in the mirror. The tuxedo was tailored to fit, expensive, and made him appear older than his eighteen years. Their birthdays had all come and gone, and he clenched his fists, knowing the year was almost over; it was almost time. The reflection staring back at him felt like a stranger—polished, obedient, and already owned by someone else.His mother waited for him at the bottom of the stairs, but she looked worried. Her hands twisted together in front of her, knuckles pale, eyes rimmed with exhaustion he knew too well.“I’m so sorry, North.”“Why? What happened?” His heart hammered in his chest. He looked into her eyes, but she looked down as another door opened, and he heard his father’s footsteps.“In the library. Now,” Weston said, and turned on his heel. The man looked livid, and North swallowed, but followed behind him dutifully. Each step felt heavier than the last, as though the hallway itself were narrowing around him.Charlotte and her parents stood
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