Lydia's Point Of View
The world was tilting on its axis, and I was sliding off the edge. I stood there, clutching my own elbows so hard I could feel my nails digging through the fabric of my sleeve, staring at the man who had just dismantled my entire existence with a single sentence. My legs trembled beneath me, threatening to give way entirely. The night air felt too thin, as though someone had stolen half the oxygen from it.
Charles… no, Mr. Silvestro stepped closer. The gravel crunching under his expensive Italian loafers sounded like bone breaking. He didn't look like the deadbeat my father had described for years, the gambling addict who'd supposedly abandoned his family in shame. He looked like a god of war who had decided to take up tailoring.
