It doesn't worth a thing if I can't save her.
The door creaks open, shattering the moment. “Vincent,” a silken voice purrs.
Delilah. Of course.
She leans against the frame, her gown cut low, clinging to every curve. Her perfume—too sweet, too heavy—chokes the air, drowning Myra’s soft herbal scent. Her eyes flick to the bracelet, her smile tightening.
“I heard Myra’s been under the weather,” she says, stepping closer, heels clicking on stone. “Got worried.....thought I could help.”
I stiffen. Delilah’s never here without an agenda. “We’re fine,” I say, voice flat.
Myra, oblivious, clapped her hands together. “Will you read me a story, Aunt Delilah?”
Delilah’s smile brightened instantly, her expression dripping with false warmth. She crouched beside the bed, brushing Myra’s hair ba
