“But problems,” I said, turning to face her, “have solutions. And the solution to this one… will be unexpected. It will be one that I did not want to use, but I know for a fact that if I choose. Not true. It is just going to go in vain. Her presence is just going to be one that keeps bothering me.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
I walked to the far corner of the study and opened the drawer of my desk. Inside, a box. Old. Locked. And untouched for years.
Until now.
I opened it slowly and pulled out an old photograph. A young woman, beautiful, soft-eyed, with that same raven-black hair and fire in her gaze.
Lysandra looked over my shoulder. “Who is that?”
I smiled coldly. “Her name was Marissa.”
Lysandra frowned.
“My Marissa,” I added. “Before your mother. Befor
