Roman had just stepped out of the house and into his car, ready to head for work, when his phone buzzed. His mother’s name flashed across the screen. He groaned, gripping the steering wheel in frustration before answering the call reluctantly.

“Son! What was the meaning of what you displayed last night?” Her voice was sharp, almost accusing.

Roman’s jaw tightened. “I should be asking you that question,” he shot back. “You told me it was a family dinner, and then you invited Venessa to stay over.”

Mrs. Blackwood let out an exaggerated sigh. “Son, don’t be difficult. I was just being nice to Venessa. She’s always been like a...