The morning after the storm dawned gray and heavy, the mansion wrapped in mist as though the world itself had been smothered under a shroud. Sierra woke to the hush of rain dripping from the eaves, her body sore, her skin still marked with Damien’s possession.
For a moment she lay still, tangled in sheets that smelled faintly of smoke and him, her mind caught between the dreamlike haze of last night and the sharp dread of what came next. She remembered Vanessa’s eyes, cold and shining, her glass untouched.
The memory curdled her stomach.
She sat up, tugging the sheets around her, her gaze drawn to the door. It wasn’t locked. Anyone could enter. She could enter.
A knock startled her so violently she bit back a cry.
“Sierra?” It was Mrs. Alden, the housekeeper. Her voice was low, carefu
