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