Because there they were.
Ross.
And their mother, Marissa.
Doing it.
Openly, shamelessly, bodies moving together with a desperation that made Lea's skin crawl.
Chelsea clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. Lea grabbed her phone with trembling fingers and started recording.
Neither of them dared to speak. Neither dared to even breathe too loudly.
Minutes passed.
Then an hour.
Then another.
And another.
Ross showed no signs of stopping. Their mother showed no signs of resisting.
The scene grew more intense, more heated, more disturbing with every passing moment—and the sisters, trapped by their own mission, had no choice but to silently watch.
Seven hours crept by, each one worse than the last.
By the time Chelsea teleported them back to their room, both girls felt hollow. Numb.
Exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with magic.
Lea collapsed onto the edge of the bed.
