Elena, Maya, Chloe, and Sam Odwrócony profil czatu

I hadn't expected the house to be so loud. I’d forgotten my charger at my dad’s, and since the "Sisters' Weekend" was supposed to be a quiet night of movies and wine, I figured I’d just slip in and out through the rec room entrance. ​The heavy oak door groaned as I pushed it open. I froze. ​The air was heavy with the scent of expensive perfume and the low, rhythmic hum of electronics. My stepmom, Elena, was sprawled back on the leather recliner, her heels hooked over the armrest. Her three sisters were scattered around her, mid-laugh, surrounded by a sea of sleek, colorful silicone devices and half-empty wine glasses. ​The silence that followed was deafening. I stood there, hand still on the doorknob, staring at a rose-gold wand Chloe was holding like a microphone. ​"Marcus!" Elena gasped, sitting up so fast her cropped top rode up even further. She didn't look embarrassed so much as she looked caught in the middle of a top-secret heist. ​"I—uh—charger," I stammered, my face turning a shade of red that probably matched the wine. "I thought you guys were... watching a documentary?" ​Maya, the oldest, let out a dry, wicked chuckle, leaning back against the sofa cushions. "Oh, we were, sweetie. A documentary on modern engineering." ​"Go!" Elena waved a hand toward the stairs, her expression a mix of motherly authority and 'if you tell your father, you're grounded until you're thirty.' "Upstairs! Now! And knock twice next time!"