“This looks amazing, Aunt Aubrey,” I say, keeping my voice steady even as rage coils hot and violent in my chest. “You always knew how to make an occasion special.”

Her smile widens, and for a moment, I see the woman I thought I knew. The one who raised me, who baked cookies for my school fundraisers, and hosted every holiday with grace and charm.

But now I know better.

That woman never existed.

The truth is so much darker.

“Sweet tea, anyone?” Aubrey offers, lifting the pitcher. “It’s my special recipe, of course.”

Of course, it is.

“Sure,” Selene says, her tone clipped but polite. She accepts a glass, and I watch as her fingers brush against Aubrey’s. Just the briefest touch, but I see it in her eyes—the same revulsion I feel crawling beneath my skin.

I take a seat on the blanket, motioning for Mo to do the same. She hesitates, then sits cross-legged, plucking a cupcake from the tray.

“That one’s red velvet,” Aubrey says, nodding toward Mo’s choice. “Gabriel’s favorite.”

Mo takes a deliberate bite, chewing slowly. Then, with a sweet smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, she says, “You know, Aubrey, this is a beautiful setup. You always did have a way of getting what you wanted. Like you always say ‘no matter what it takes.’”

The words hang in the air, deceptively light but sharp as glass.

Aubrey’s smile falters, just for a fraction of a second before she smooths it away, tilting her head just so. Calculating. Measuring. “Well,” she says smoothly, “when you love someone, you go the extra mile. Don’t you agree, Teddy?”

My whole body locks up.

Her gaze lands on me, warm and expectant, like she’s daring me to disagree.

I want to. God, I want to throw the words back in her face. To scream, Love doesn’t look like this. Love doesn’t kill people. Love doesn’t lie.

But I can’t. Not yet.

I swallow hard, my jaw aching from how tightly I’m clenching it. “Yeah,” I say. “You do whatever it takes to make sure everything is perfect.”

Aubrey gives me a tight smile before she busies herself pouring glasses of sweet tea, her movements precise and elegant, like she’s done this a thousand times before. As she hands the rest of us a glass, her eyes linger just a little too long, searching for something—what, I can’t say.

But I do know one thing.

She’s expecting something.

Selene and I exchange a quick glance as Aubrey turns her back to reach for the last glass. I can see the tension in her jaw, and the slight tremor in her fingers as she grips her cup. My heart pounds, every instinct screaming at me not to drink.

She’s done this before. She’s done this before.

And the worst part?