She agrees with Jeremy

Mom’s gaze flicked to me—sharp, irritated—like I was the intruder here. "Lachlan, go to your room." The dismissal stung worse than a slap. My throat tightened. "What? No—you can’t just—"

Her nostrils flared. "I said *go*." The command left no room for argument, but Jeremy made sure to twist the knife. He smirked, sliding one hand down Mom’s stomach, fingers teasing the undone button of her jeans. "Yeah, *Lachlan*," he mocked, voice dripping with false sympathy. "Run along before you see something that’ll *really* fuck you up." Mom didn’t even scold him. Just pressed her hips back into his touch, her breath coming faster.