t was so deeply ingrained, I did it without thinking, my body moving on autopil

table, one smudged with crimson lipstick. A woman's silk scarf, the

insed them in the kitchen sink, and folded the scarf, placing

e you do

ing only a pair of gray sweatpants. His hair was

n I spoke. "Last nigh

ne, turning his back on me. "Seraphina is a brilliant artist, but she's vol

e a chore, a burden

Hatti," he said, the steam from the machine

ight in front of me, yet he twisted it,

hand, and his expression softened into a mask of calculated patience. He walk

ir, his voice a low hum. "You're the only on

man grabbing for a piece of driftwood

e. He reached for his wallet, pulled out the same black

ice for your bir

onal, dismissive. It redu

Industries Foundation Gala is next week. I need a date.

d itself in the ruins of my heart. Mayb