I let the smile die slowly and angled my head toward her. “Seraphine, do you really believe you’ve won?”
Her breath faltered. “What exactly are you trying to say?”
I stepped closer until my fingertips brushed her cheek, lingering there, my expression razor-edged.
“Enjoy your borrowed sight,” I murmured. “Because one day, these same eyes will watch your world collapse.”
I had been a Carter long before I was ever Mrs. Whitmore. And Carters don’t crumble just because someone tries to erase them.
Her hand jerked. Glass shattered against the floor, followed by her shrill cry.
Julian stormed upstairs. “What just happened here?”
Seraphine collapsed into him like she might faint. “It’s nothing,” she sobbed. “I brought her some tea, but she threw it in anger. Please don’t be upset with her, Mr. Whitmore. She isn’t well.”
She didn’t repeat a single word I’d said. She didn’t need to. She painted herself the victim perfectly.
Julian turned to her immediately. “Your eyes are still healing, Seraphine. Don’t cry.”
Then his voice cut toward me, sharp as a blade.
“Elara, she came all this way just to help you. She didn’t cause your blindness, so stop venting your anger on her. This behavior is absurd.”