She's Dead, Mr. Blackwood Please Don't Cry

knees. Every nerve in her body screamed. She bit down hard on her lower lip,

fingers around it, the bent prongs and sharp edges of the setting digging into her

er body felt like a dead weight, but she forced her legs to lock, t

er ashen face, the sweat beading on her upper l

wrong wi

almost comical. It was the kind of thing you'd

love she once felt was gone. The hurt was gone. Even the hatred

rry about," she said, h

gainst his expensive suit. Her back was rigid, her head held

ng coiled in Damien's gut. It felt like... losing. He, who never lo

eet, cloying poison. "Don't let her upset you, darling. She's just trying to mak

leared her head enough to allow her to stumble into a deserted alleyway between two bu

th shaking hands, she twisted the cap and dry-swallowed three of the powerfu

waiting for the medicine to work. The pain was a living thing inside her, clawing and biting. She

ad no

recesses of her memory. A name she hadn'

ne

, chasing after a married billionaire and a life of glamour. The woman who sent a lav

her. But she knew one thing for certa

ng the last of her pride. Even if it meant facing the woman wh

painkillers were beginning to dull the sharpest edges of the pain, replacin

address she had memorized from a society column ye

y, Seraphina stared out the window at the city blurring past. She was going

winding driveway led to a sprawling stone mansion that looked like something out of a fairyta

ene wealth that stood in stark, cruel

fore the gates for a long moment, taking a deep b

ith a slight accen

said, her own name sounding forei

The heavy gates began to swing in

an the last. The front door opened before she reached it

elicate porcelain coffee cup. She was slim, elegant, dressed in cream-colored cashmere. When

se, a surprise that was quickly rep

e room and enveloped Seraphina in a hug that smelled of expensive perfume and m

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