Chapter 8. Touch of Fire

Evelyn

I awoke to the merciless grip of a pounding headache. A very bad one indeed.

Grimacing, I instinctively pressed my fingers against the throbbing side of my forehead, while taking small sips of the coffee Clara had handed me just moments ago.

“Why does your headache scream of a night drowned in alcohol?” Dad asked, arching one of his eyebrows as he nonchalantly crunched on a packet of chips.

Dad and his knack for suspicion. Just unbelievable!

“Yes, I drowned in a tank of it.” I scoffed.

A frown etched across his face as my words sank in, but before he could respond, Clara swiftly intervened.

“Samuel, let her be,” she scolded, her voice firm, “Don’t bother her!”

“How am I bothering her?” Dad asked, his disbelief evident.

“You are,” Clara asserted, her tone unwavering. “By bombarding her with pointless questions at this moment.”

“I was merely curious about the cause of her sudden headache. There must be something