Morning crept into the curtains like a trespasser. The Cross estate, the roses, the sound of rain — they might have belonged to a dream if not for the faint scent of the same perfume still clinging to Serena's sleeves.
She had slept little. When she finally rose, the mirror caught her first: a woman composed, but not untouched. The faintest dark beneath her eyes betrayed her thoughts more honestly than she would ever allow her words to.
The conversation from the night before replayed again and again — every word, every pause, every look that seemed to see too much. "Am I your salvation or your sin?" He had asked it almost idly, yet the echo refused to fade.
She pressed a hand to her temple. What had she been thinking, letting him that close?
No— she corrected herself —what had she been feeling?
There was a difference. She had promised herself she would never confuse the two again.
