the perfect "bruised" look. She checked her reflection from multiple angles, deepened the mark with th
oice shifted-from the composed woman in the mirror to
lia
voice waver.
... it hurt
provoked attack. The shove. The slap. The way she'd fallen, and the way Seraphina had kept going. She
aid you'd never be a real father anyway... Julian, I
. Silent.
econds
flat and cold as winter pavement
'll wait f
in the mirror, and let a small, satisfied smile cross her face. Then she
ance were gone. She looke
ross-legged on the couch, laptop balan
"Someone spilled coffee on me this morning a
nt wide. "And?
hina tossed the core into the trash. "Sh
kind o
ng to something more deliberate. "Height, IQ, face-top tier. I want t
one. "Seraphina. That's you
nse," Seraphina said, grinning with zero guilt.
e stood up, walked to the window. Below,
ft. Going t
y feel the shift throu
more he runs to her, the more interesting this gets. He wants to
phone onto the couch, an
r a dress. She was pi
ilk slip dress-low-cut, short enough to be deliberate, and
ut and held it
t curl at the corner of her mouth, and the look of
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