I didn’t wear blue.I wore black. Simple, sharp, one of my own designs. My mother’s scarf was tied around my wrist, faded blue silk, the only blue he was going to get from me.The taxi dropped me at the gate at 7:58.A new guard opened it. Young, unsmiling. Mr. Harris was gone. I wondered if Richard had found out about the envelope, and the thought made me cold.The Cole mansion hadn’t changed.Same iron gates. Same white columns. Same long table in the dining room where I’d spent three years of Sundays passing the salt to the man who destroyed my mother.Richard Cole stood when I walked in.He was sixty-eight now, silver-haired, still handsome in the way powerful men stay handsome long after they stop being kind. He smiled warmly. He’d always been good at warm.“Elena. Look at you.” He pulled out my chair. “Milan suits you.”I didn’t sit down. “You know where I’ve been.”“I make it my business to know things.” He sat, unbothered, and poured two glasses of red wine. “Please. I’m not g
Last Updated : 2026-11-01 Read more