Zelly didn’t bother with a disguise.
She wanted Mehanda’s parents to see exactly who was standing on their porch, a clear, unambiguous reminder of everything they feared. She chose her outfit deliberately, sharp, expensive leather that hugged her figure perfectly, the kind of clothing that screamed confidence and danger. Her hair was pulled back so tightly it looked painful, every strand in place, giving her an elegant yet predatory appearance.
She looked like a predator because she was one.
When Mrs. Rosa opened the door, she nearly took a step backward, her face draining of color. Her hand shot instinctively to the silver locket at her throat, clutching it as if it could shield her from what she saw. Zelly’s piercing eyes locked onto her, cold and unrestrained.
“I’m not here to hu
