Lynn's POV
My phone rings with a shrill urgency that shatters the apartment's fragile quiet like breaking glass. Mom's name flashes on the screen, and my stomach plummets.
"Lynn Marie Quinn." Her voice slices through the speaker with the kind of cold, lethal rage I haven't heard since I was sixteen and came home past curfew. "How dare you cancel my credit card."
The brief peace from Logan's comfort evaporates instantly, replaced by that familiar green fire igniting behind my eyes. "It's my credit card, Mom. Given to you for emergencies."
"Don't you dare take that tone with me. I am your mother."
"Then act like it," I snap, my carefully maintained composure finally cracking like fractured ice. "Mothers don't celebrate their daughter's betrayal with five-thousand-dollar tea parties."
"
