ANGEL
Celine arrived two days later. Strawberry blonde hair in a neat bun. She looked to be in her mid-thirties and beautiful too.
The hair was the first problem. Strawberry blonde. The exact shade that made my stomach curdle because it reminded me of a specific person who I’d also hated. Camilla.
There was no other resemblance but it made me despise her even deeper than I would have.
“Good morning, Miss Angel. I’m Celine. Mrs. Martha sent me to—”
“I know who you are.” I didn’t look up from my phone.
I was sitting at the kitchen table in one of Vincent’s shirts, my legs tucked under me. My hair was a tangled mess because I’d spent the morning being f****d awake and hadn’t bothered with a brush.
I hadn’t put on underwear either. The shirt barely covered my thighs and Vincent’s c*m w
