Not Mutual

Without a second thought, Iyana stormed past her tearful stepmother. Carolina's pathetic display of tears and pleas slid off her like rain on a storm-worn stone—she wouldn't let those crocodile tears distract her. 

Sienna was here. She could feel it in her bones. Carolina's feeble attempt at winning sympathy was nothing more than a whisper in a hurricane.

Iyana's steps faltered just a fraction as she reached the door to Sienna's room. Her hand hovered over the doorknob, but only for a heartbeat. Doubt was a luxury she couldn't afford. She shoved the door open, the creak of the hinges slicing through the silence like a blade.

The room was empty.

Iyana's frustration surged as she scanned the room, her gaze finally landing on a single object that demanded her attention—a torn envelope, lying brazenly on the vanity, like a trap waiting to be sprung.