the pure white silk of the wedding dress. It was custom-made, a creation of imp
r than the entire apartment I grew up in before the fire. The seamstress, a small, qui
knot formed in my stomach, a familiar feeling of
de his eyes look almost black. He wasn't my uncle, not by blood. He was my guardian, the man who took me in
s voice a low hum that a
rpet. He dismissed the seamstress with a slight nod of his head. S
ere
ss, of me. His gaze was intense, possessive. It used to make me
e reached out and traced the line of my collarbone, his
s long as I could remember, first as a child loves a hero, and then, as I grew older, as
split second, his mask of calm affection slipped. An emotion I couldn't ident
breaking the connection
e was low, and I couldn't hear the words, but the tone was
denly feeling like a cage. My body felt stiff, my hands c
e fixed on his face again. But it didn't reach
Olivia. You shoul
uggestion. It
r best." He walked over, kissed my forehead l
silence of the room pressing in on me. I finally stepped off the pedestal, th
. He'd fo
ic rhythm against my ribs. I knew I shouldn't. It was his
h was now a twisting serpent o
lit up. It was a message preview on the lock sc
ra
r the same dark shade as mine. She was holding the hand of a small boy who was
ilently on the thick carpet. I stared at it, a
y arranged, tilted on its axis. The air left my
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