When Leslie got to the living room, the first thing she saw was Lydia sitting there sipping tea.
In front of Lydia sat a porcelain tea set easily worth a fortune.
The deep red tea against the crisp white porcelain looked almost like a painting.
But what really kept Leslie's eyes locked was Lydia's hands.
The woman was stunning, and her hands were just as pretty.
Long, slim fingers with neatly manicured, soft pink nails.
She took a slow sip, acting like she hadn't even noticed Leslie come in.
Only when Leslie called out in an overly sweet voice, "Leslie, dear sister," did Lydia shift slightly, rubbing her arms like she'd caught a chill.
Ugh, goosebumps.
Honestly, after that last beating, this woman still hadn't learned her lesson? And here she was, back for more
