“What do you mean?” Lucien asked, his brow furrowed in genuine puzzlement, as if I had just suggested the most absurd thing to exist on the face of the earth. “I wish to meet my mother. What’s so difficult to understand about that?” “No,” he said flatly. His voice was a wall of granite, leaving absolutely no room for argument or negotiation. “What do you mean, ‘no’?” I asked, stepping closer to him until I was deep in his personal space. I felt a familiar, hot rage boiling up in my chest, pushing against my ribs. “Don’t you understand? No is a full sentence,” he said. Without another word, he turned his back on me and left the room, his stride long and purposeful. “Seraphina, I don’t think that’s a good idea—wanting to visit your birth mother,” Madame Vivienne said softly. She moved toward me, her face tight with concern, trying to persuade me to give up on my quest for answers b
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