The Cross mansion’s dining room glowed under the golden chandelier, the table gleaming with crystal glasses and the rich aroma of roasted lamb. Grandma Eleanor sat at the head of the table, regal as always, while Aria and Damian faced each other like rival kings at war — one armed with charm, the other with daggers for eyes.

“Before we dig in, I’d like to say something,” Grandma began, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “I’ll be returning to L.A. next week.”

Aria’s fork froze mid-air. “So soon, Grandma? I’m going to miss you.”

Damian’s gaze snapped toward her like a knife.

Aria met his glare, arching a brow. “What?...