Morning came soft and pale, as though the world had decided to be merciful.
Serena sat by the window of her small room, the hem of her robe pooling across the floor, her golden hair unbound and falling over one shoulder.
The house was quiet. Emily and Leonard were still asleep, or pretending to be. The silence pressed against her like guilt.
She hadn't slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him — Christopher — the way his gaze had darkened when he said her name, the weight of his voice when he told her to go.
It should have angered her, humiliated her.
Instead, it hollowed her out.
She told herself she'd gone to him for Leonard. That every kiss, every trembling breath, every surrender was a price she'd already agreed to pay.
It was a transaction. A means to an end.
But no matter how many times she whispered it, her body refused to believe her.
Because in the end, she had never learned how to separate the two — the body and the heart, desire and ruin.
