The moment I saw her, the world stopped moving.
Marianne.
She stood there at Damian’s side, her posture flawless, a small smirk playing at her lips like she belonged, like she had always belonged. She was draped in a wine-colored gown that clung to her like it had been sewn into her very skin, the kind of fabric that shimmered when it caught the light. Her hair was twisted into a perfect updo, not a strand out of place, her earrings delicate but loud enough to announce her presence.
It hit me then, not just her, not just the surprise of seeing her in this house, but all of them. Damian’s parents, impeccably dressed. Damian’s father in a sharp black suit, his tie perfectly knotted, his gaze heavy with that unshakable authority he carried everywhere. His mother in a navy gown that managed
