the sky outside bruised from black to purple. The guesthouse was cold and sparse, a servant's quarters that h

laugh escaped her. Three years of enduring their contempt worked out to roughly four thousand five hundred dollars a day. A bargain, really, for a "fat, scarred shield." The self-mockery was a cli

was Arthur Kensington, patriarch of one of Boston's oldest families and the

fellowship in advanced cardiothoracic surgery. A

be a surgeon. To be the best. Before Damian, bef

the keyboard. She typed

made. A p

he touch. The drenching, the emotional devastation-it had

l, the pills scraping down her raw thro

ting. Ten o'clock came and went. Then

leven, her phone

" His voice

her own voice weak from

a soft, feminine voice. Seraphina. "Da

phone. Then, back to her, the impatience returned tenfold

hun

liation. He couldn't be bothered to show up to

e look from a passing lawyer. Tears streamed down her face, but sh

e had just hand

t the credit cards tied to his account. She found a pair of small scissors an

card, and snapped it in two. She tossed the phone and t

e, away from the name Blackwood, away from the ghost of

ld went

YEAR

om ears and throats. Champagne flowed. Damian Blackwood stood near t

s face. "Still can't believe you're not offici

ished, he had filed for divorce in absentia. He had Seraphina by his side. He had everyth

m, Preston. We'

at charity case. Wonder what happened to her. Probably

ough Damian. He opened his mouth to say so

w hum of conversation died as every h

oak doors