The hallway outside the parlor was lined with expensive portraits generations of Kavinskys, frozen in oil and gold frames. Lily barely glanced at them as she walked past, her fists clenched tightly at her sides.

She’d had enough.

Enough of whispered lies and false smiles.

Enough of being made to feel small.

And if Leo refused to acknowledge the truth, maybe his mother could talk some sense into him.

But the moment she stepped into the parlor, she regretted coming.

Mrs Kavinsky sat on the tufted sofa like a queen at court poised, regal, sipping from her porcelain teacup as if the world outside didn’t exist. Her pearl earrings glinted...