Chapter 2

Lucas's brow twitched. He let go of Valerie's wrist and reluctantly took two steps toward me.

Every inch of his body radiated pure annoyance, as if screaming, "What kind of drama are you trying to stir up now?"

"Why is she wearing your shirt?"

"It was pouring! She was drenched when she got here, so I gave her something dry to change into. What's the big deal?"

Lucas raised his voice, his eyes darting toward Valerie as if worried she might hear, before quickly lowering his volume again.

"Can you not embarrass me in front of a guest?"

"Why is she at our house in the first place?"

"It was on the way! She didn't have an umbrella, so I picked her up. The storm got worse, so I told her to wait it out here. What kind of sick garbage is running through your head every single day?"

Lucas backed away half a step. His shoulder bumped into the entryway console table. With a sharp crash, the glass vase on top wobbled and toppled over. The bouquet of white lilies, along with murky water, smashed onto the floor, sending shards of glass flying everywhere.

Valerie leaned out from the kitchen doorway, holding a mug of tea. Seeing the mess, her eyes went wide.

"Oh no—"

She hurried over, crouching down to pick up the broken glass with her bare hands.

"This is all my fault. If I hadn't come over, Savannah wouldn't—"

"Don't touch it."

My voice cut through the room like a blade.

Valerie's hand froze in midair. A tiny cut had already opened on her index finger, a bead of bright red blood welling up. She let out a soft, sharp gasp.

Lucas's expression darkened instantly. He grabbed her arm, pulled her up from the floor, and inspected her finger with frantic concern before glaring at me, his voice trembling with rage.

"Savannah, are you serious right now? It's just a damn vase! Can't you see she cut her hand?!"

"When she lunged forward, she kicked a piece of glass right into Leo's foot."

I remained standing where I was, bent down, and picked up a shard of bloody glass from the floor.

Valerie looked down at the tiny scratch on her finger. Her eyelashes fluttered, and her lips parted slightly.

Only then did Lucas look toward the staircase. Leo had crept back down at some point and was curled up on the bottom step.

He was barefoot. Across the top of his left foot ran a thin, bleeding gash. The cut wasn't deep, but blood was trickling down his pale skin.

He hadn't made a sound. He just sat there, watching the three adults in the living room with quiet, dark eyes.

"Leo!"

Lucas crossed the floor in two strides and bent down to pick him up. "Why are you running around without shoes? Your foot—"

Leo shrank back, flinching away from his touch, and looked straight at me.

"Mommy, I filled the tub."

I walked over, knelt in front of Leo, pulled a tissue from my pocket, and pressed it against the cut on his foot.

His toes curled in pain, but he didn't cry. Instead, he used his clean hand to tug softly at my drenched sleeve.

"She's a bad person," Leo whispered under his breath, so low only I could hear.

I didn't answer. I scooped him into my arms, stepped around the puddle of dirty water, broken glass, and crushed petals, and headed upstairs.

As I passed Lucas, he reached out to grab my arm. His grip was tight, his voice edged with panic.

"Savannah, listen to me—"

"Clean up the living room first," I said without stopping. "Before she steps on another shard and cries to you again."

Lucas's hand froze in the air.

I carried Leo up to the second floor, set him down under the warm yellow lights of the bathroom, and turned on the shower. Steam rose in thick waves, drowning out the roaring storm raging outside the window.