Claire's POV
After that very embarrassing moment, Louis sped off. He must still be scared of my mum.
I was inside now, sinking into the living room sofa that felt more like a hot seat in the middle of an interrogation. I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly drier than the desert.
My mother perched on the single armchair in the corner— the one Grandma had successfully claimed as her throne. She squinted at me, her sharp eyes burning with a million unspoken questions.
I shifted uncomfortably under the heat of her gaze. "So…"
She cut in sharply before I could finish. "I'll go first. Why was he here, Claire?" Straight for the kill. "Were you with him yesterday? The whole night? Was that why you didn't come home last night? Didn't pick my calls?"
The questions came rapid-fire, one tumbling over the other without giving me space to breathe, let alone answer. Her voice stayed calm but firm, but each question shot at me with accurate precision.
