A Trap

Victoria's POV

"Owen is gone."

The words fell from my father's lips the moment I took my place at the dining table.

For a second, I thought I had misheard him. But how he said it—calm, detached, as if announcing the weather—sent a cold shiver down my spine.

My heart pounded wildly against my ribs.

Gone.

I had shut him out, pushed him away, refused to let him in—but I never wanted him to leave.

"What do you mean he's gone?" I asked, forcing my voice to stay steady even as panic clawed at my chest.

I straightened my posture, my fingers tightening around the table's edge as if holding on to something solid would stop the sudden unease washing over me.

My father's sharp eyes flickered toward me, assessing, searching.

I schooled my expression, masking the shock, the pain, the sudden emptiness spreading inside me like ink in water.

But I wasn't sure if I succeeded.

Because I knew my father.