Alexander’s invitation arrived via handwritten note slipped into my locker between Advanced Chemistry and European Literature, written on expensive paper that probably cost more than most people’s textbooks. The message was brief and imperious: Family dinner tonight. 7 PM. Don’t make me come find you.
I stared at the note, my stomach dropping as I processed the implications. Another Calloway family dinner meant another evening with Victoria Calloway’s razor-sharp interrogations and Alexander’s increasingly complicated emotional warfare. After our confrontation yesterday about the locked room incident, I wasn’t sure I could handle more psychological manipulation disguised as social courtesy.
“Bad news?” Roni appeared beside my locker, looking perfectly put-together despite having spent th
