They Tied the FBI Chief to the Christmas Tree

It was my first Christmas at my boyfriend's family home.

At the long table in the Sinclair estate, the turkey had just been carved, and red wine gleamed in the crystal glasses.

Then Chloe—Ethan's childhood friend and next-door neighbor—dropped her silver fork with a sharp clatter.

"Ethan, how could you bring an *escort* home for Christmas dinner?"

The air froze.

At first, everyone assumed she'd simply had one too many glasses of champagne and was running her mouth.

But she pressed on, unwavering.