Her fingers fluttered toward her head, but Serena slapped her hand away. « No touching, » Serena snapped. « You’ll ruin it. »
Across the circular driveway, the mansion’s fountain bubbled, indifferent.
Wealth was everywhere—marble, glass, perfect hedges—yet Evelyn felt poorer and more alone than she ever had. The gate motor whined. A sleek black sedan rolled in quietly, tires crunching on gravel. Evelyn’s heart jolted. She recognized the car before she saw the driver. Damian Kingsley—her son, a ruthless financial executive renowned for his iron-clad control—stepped out, still holding a folder from a meeting he’d ended early.
He froze when he heard the sound: Evelyn’s thin, broken sob cutting through the manicured air.
« Mom? »
Damian’s voice cracked on the word. Serena’s hand stilled mid-cut. For a split second, her face showed pure panic—then it smoothed into a sickly-sweet, practiced smile. « Oh, Damian, » she called brightly.
« Perfect timing. I’m helping your mother. She’s been so… unmanageable. »
Damian walked closer, his lethal gaze locked on Evelyn. Jagged locks of hair clung to her cardigan like silent testimonies. One side of her head was terribly uneven, hacked short. Her cheeks were wet, and her mouth trembled like she was trying not to completely fall apart in front of him. « What did you do? » Damian asked, his voice dangerously calm. Serena shrugged. « She needed a trim. She’s just being dramatic. »
Evelyn tried to speak. Her words snagged on pure fear. « She—she grabbed me, » she managed to whisper, barely audible. « She wouldn’t stop. » Damian’s jaw tightened. He looked at Serena’s hand still holding the weapon. Then he looked at his mother’s frail, bruising wrist where fingers had dug in too deep.
« Put that down, » Damian said.
