[Rosie's POV]
He always wins and I'm left with no choice than to come along.
The scent of the shampoo and styling products perfumed the bustling hair salon.
I sat cocooned in a swivel chair, my head tilted back in surrender as a skilled stylist wove her magic on my dark.
The mirror reflects my image along with the people passing by.
There's a gentle hum of conversation and the whirl of blow dryer on my hair brings thought of a busy bee.
I'm more tense than ever with creepy eyes on me, some whispers over what occurred late at night.
I lied, I can't, I'm not myself after that incident, I'd want to approach Damien, question him about how he did it.
The case just died down without me even defending myself.
My eyes met with Harry who was lounging in a plush armchair, his hand holding a magazine like he was looking at him but those eyes track me with an unmistakable warmth.
A gentle smile played on his face and I offered a faint one.
Then I mouthed;
"Do you like it?"
