~CELINE’S POV~
The vacuum hums low in the hallway while the smell of lemon polish trails behind me.
Hunter’s mother was gone. Thank God.
The house feels less like a battlefield this morning and more like an overdecorated museum.
Except the head maid is back to barking orders like she owns the place, and I’m starting to think she believes she does.
I don’t even bother correcting her anymore when she mispronounces my name. It’s not worth the breath.
I’m dusting the edge of the grand piano when Ana appears in the doorway. She’s got that smirk again—the one she only pulls out when something’s about to go sideways.
“There’s someone outside asking for you,” she says, voices all fake-sweet. “Pretty little thing. Looks just like you.”
My stomach drops.
No.
No, no, no. I wipe my hands o
