Annette slowly turned around to look at her husband, Michael Hamilton. A hundred and ninety-centimeter tall man with blonde short hair and sharp gray eyes.
"M-Michael—"
"Come inside," Mr. Hamilton said directly to Avelina, who was watching him with frightened eyes.
Avelina could not explain what it was, but she wanted to run—to flee and never look back. Her instincts were screaming at her not to step into the house, but she couldn't seem to go against her father, the man whom she had always feared, ever since she was a little girl,
He'd always intimidated her, and she had never once understood why. This man was worse than an ant before Draven, yet the way she felt towards them was very dissimilar.
She felt safe with Draven, but with the man who called himself her father, she felt like she was in hell—as if she were in a lion's den.
Avelina gulped and nervously nodded her head. She stepped into the house, pulling her luggage along with her.
