Lance's POV
"Lance?"
Adrian's voice carried surprise, quickly muffled as he covered his mouth, cautious of his father overhearing.
At the sound of my name, something twisted in me. A tinge I couldn't quite define. The second time I had felt it today—yet unlike the first, when fury had burned through me as I watched Darius slap him at the funeral house, this one carried a strange pull I didn't want to acknowledge.
"What are you doing here?" his father snarled, the sound cutting through Adrian's attempt at secrecy. His disappointment was written plainly across his face as my presence was discovered at the poolside sit-out.
"I came to take my things," I replied lowly, gesturing toward the few suitcases stacked beside the chair where I sat. The workers were still inside my room gathering the rest.
