HIS BROKEN PLAYTHING
The click of the lock sounded louder than usual, almost like a small betrayal, before she pushed the door open.
When we got in, the room was dark, save for the thin slice of moonlight cutting through the curtains. Bella stayed by the door, keeping her distance as I stepped inside. My eyes adjusted to the dim light, focusing on the bed and at the center of the tangled sheets was Lyla, curled up, almost buried under the covers from head to toe. h
Her small form barely visible.
“Little doll,”
I called out softly, my voice low, careful not to startle her.
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