MY TABOO STEP DADDY
I'll kill mom and hang myself for being a fool.
My palms flatten, spreading the pictures across the sheets.
Blood thrum in my ears.
Tristan's laughter is all I hear. Not joyful. But mocking, angry, pained.
More and more. Images of dead massacred bodies, occultism with Mom at the head seat like a queen, weapon houses, and money crates like piles of trash. I thought Mom was just a millionaire influencer. Thought she was selfish. Thought she couldn't harm a fly.
But this —
I turn to Damon. “Can these be faked?”