the scarf. It was cashmere, a soft dove gray, a gift from Floyd two years ago. He'd wr

ter since. A symbol of a

it neatly, and placed it in a cardboard

Floyd and her at a gala, his arm possessively around her waist. A ca

nt and placed it in the box on top o

s a pencil drawing she had done the day after he woke from his coma. He was sitting b

match. The flame caught the corner of the paper. The face she had once loved contorted in the heat, turning black and curling into

party became a masterclas

to find Jaylah inside, standing in front

e floor. She turned, a predatory smile on her face. "Floyd and

She bent down, picked up

th false sympathy. "I'm sure Floyd will give you a gen

e. This wasn't the reaction she wanted. She sw

a maid knocke

he sunroom, miss. She said to m

s. Even the smell made her nauseous. Floyd knew that. He had forgotten

her as the rich, earthy scent filled the air. She brewed the

e together on a white wicker sofa.

ffee," s

e frowned. "You look pale, Eliz

a reflex, a gho

this time, it was the last time. The headache blooming behind her eyes was a