Serena stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror, smoothing out the final imaginary crease on her white silk dress.
The woman in the reflection was elegant and demure, her long black hair cascading softly over her shoulders. Her lips were curved into a perfectly measured fifteen-degree smile. This was exactly how Harvey liked her. For the three years they had been married, Harvey had maintained an almost obsessive standard for her appearance. Her clothes had to be understated pastels or whites; her hair could never be dyed or permed; even the number of teeth she showed when smiling was something he would correct, always in a tone that was pampering yet undeniably authoritative.
"Serena, you look most beautiful when you smile like this," he would say, his deep eyes reflecting her image as
