“Easy,” he says calmly. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
My thoughts race.
The door is unlocked.
My phone is on the counter.
My dad isn’t here.
Silas shifts, dragging me inside the kitchen and shutting the patio door. Then he hauls me backward toward the hallway, my shoe slipping on the tile floor. His grip is bruising, impatient, and punishing.
“You shouldn’t have let him stand between us,” he murmurs into my hair, his tone dark. “Men like him always get in the way.”
Fear spikes sharp and clean.
But beneath it, something else ignites.
Anger.
I fight, twisting, clawing, and kicking at him.
I’m not going down that easily.
55
SEBASTIAN
I’m already heading to my car, my phone in my hand. Ivy should be at her dad’s now, having a normal, uneventful lunch.
I tell myself that as I dial, even though my gut says otherwise.
It rings.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
Then it goes to voicemail.
I blow out a breath, trying to remain logical. She’s probably washing her hands. Setting food out. Teasing her dad about his stalker tendencies.
I hang up without leaving a message.
The feeling won’t leave. Something feels... wrong.
I check the time.
Two minutes pass before I call again.
It rings three times.
On the fourth ring, her voicemail picks up again.
My chest tightens. Not from panic, but a low-grade awareness, like a pressure change before a storm.
I open our text thread.
