"Somehow, I've been tied to secrets I never touched."
— Ava Carter Reed
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Ava's Point of View
The storm didn't let up all night.
Rain lashed at the windows of the Reed mansion, tracing crooked rivers across the glass. Every rumble of thunder felt like an echo of Dylan's silence. He had shut himself in the study the moment Andre showed him the news article.
I lay awake, curled on my side, staring at the ceiling. My phone kept buzzing with PR notifications: reporters requesting statements, hashtags climbing the trends list, questions about the alleged meeting between Darien Crest and a I.
I typed a dozen replies and deleted them all. The words felt wrong every time.
Near midnight, I gave up on sleep and padded barefoot to the kitchen. The smell of fresh coffee drifted down the hallway—Dylan's doing.
