Steven wore a dark coat, perfectly fitted, his hair groomed, his face composed in the way men with pride wore composure, like a shield, like a crown.
He stepped forward before anyone invited him.
Eve’s breath caught.
Steven’s eyes swept over the entryway, taking in the clean lines, the controlled wealth, the safety that had begun to settle into the walls.
Then his gaze landed on Eve.
And something shifted in his face, not softness.
Disbelief.
As if Eve’s peace was an insult.
“Well,” Steven said, voice smooth but sharp underneath. “There you are.”
Eve’s mouth went dry. “Father.”
Steven’s lips tightened at the word, like he liked hearing it even when it didn’t come with obedience.
Then his eyes moved.
And he saw Camila and Mitre.
The change in Steven’s expression was immediate.
