Serena
It was long past midnight when the cars began to pull away from the opera house.The rain had come — soft, steady, almost kind — washing the marble steps in a sheen of silver. The great chandelier within dimmed one crystal at a time, its reflected light flickering over the wet cobblestones.
Serena Maxwell lingered beneath the columned archway, one gloved hand trailing along the cold stone. The hem of her gown brushed the damp ground, the pale fabric whispering with every shift of her stance. Her car waited nearby, its door held open by a patient driver, but she hesitated, her fingers resting lightly against the frame.
She told herself it was only a moment's pause — the kind one took to breathe before stepping back into another lonely night. But her hand didn't move.
"Leaving already?"
The voice came from behind her — low, familiar, deliberate.
Her breath caught. She turned.
