The lie I’d been telling myself for years was that I came here for Annie.

It was a good lie. A believable one. Annie, with her bright laughter and easy friendship, was a perfect excuse. But the truth was a dark, shameful thing that lived in the pit of my stomach every time I walked into this house. The truth was her father. Steve.

Tonight, that truth was the only thing left.

The house was extremely beautiful , a masterpiece of glass and steel perched on a hill overlooking the city, had become a cage. Outside, a savage, mid-August storm had descended without warning, turning the sky black and the...