ra

the backstage corridor. I uncurled my fingers. Four deep, bloody crescent mo

rp clicking of my heels echoed off the concret

IP lounge was left slightly ajar. A sliver of warm, yel

he brass hinges let out a

d with Darjeeling tea. Her spine was a rigid line of steel. She had survived decades of vicious Blackwel

ss coffee table. I didn't sit down. I just stared at the

aucer. The sharp clink of porcelain s

d, her voice dropping into the temperature of a frozen lake.

mained a pool of stagnant, dead water.

hick, legal document. She tossed it onto the table. Her manicur

ration," she reminded me, her tone

eline. It was the only reason I sold my soul to this family. Now, l

yes narrowing into slits, "you will continue to tolera

ith the stale air of the lounge, and the nausea I had fo

e Blackwell family become the laughingstock of N

k of my defiance flashed across her hardened featu

. I turned on my heel and walked

the freezing brass doorknob. I just neede

shoved open from the outside. The massive force of the he

ad shoulders completely eclipsed the dim light from

ating cloud of tuberose pe

nt, physiological rejection. It was Kassie's perfume. The exact same cloying scent that clung to Fa

. A flicker of condescending sati

orner of his mouth curled upwar

ive leather shoes made absolutely

nging that revolting, stomach-turning tuberose scent

end of the hallway, just rounding the corner,

in screamed. Every cell in

he fabric at my waist, I instinctively twi

is hands froze mid-motion. The arrogant

His eyes narrowed into dangerous, predatory slits. The air around

You usually love it w