Anita’s POV
A sharp glint in Evelyn’s eyes betrayed her guarded mind, even though her face remained composed. Amara perched uncomfortably on the edge of her seat beside her mother, her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap as though they were charged with electricity. I stood a few feet away, my arms crossed tightly over my chest.
“Do you have any evidence?” I asked, my voice steady but carrying an edge sharp enough to draw blood. My tone-deliberately low.
Evelyn raised one perfectly arched eyebrow, the corner of her mouth curling into a condescending smile. “Evidence?” she repeated, her tone mocking, as though I’d asked her to produce the moon itself. “Evidence is such a tricky thing, Anita. It can be manufactured, distorted, or conveniently misplaced. Why should I need it to tell you what I know?”