~ Seraphina ~
The heavy mahogany door of the hotel suite clicked shut behind me, the sound final and heavy—like a gavel striking a sentence I had written for myself. My hand lingered on the cool metal of the handle, my palm damp. For years, I had been the silent ornament, the wife who ignored the lipstick on the collars and the growing steel in her own bed. Now, I was in Room 402, standing in the dim, amber glow of a world I didn't belong in.
The man was standing by the window, his back to me. He was tall, his silhouette a sharp, commanding line against the sprawling grid of city lights. He didn't turn immediately, but the very air in the room seemed to tighten, humming with a sudden, predatory energy.
"You're early," he said.
His voice wasn't what I expected from a call boy. It wasn't
