"What have they done to my sweet daughter?" Vivienne said, her voice dropping to something that sounded almost like mourning.
"The girl who used to bring me flowers from the garden. Who used to sit in my office and ask me about quarterly reports because she wanted to understand. Who had her mother's intelligence but her father's kindness."
She took a step closer, and this time her approach wasn't predatory.
It was maternal.
"Where is she, Jennifer? Where did that girl go?"
"She grew up," Jennifer snapped, her jaw tightening as her defenses slammed back into place.
She took a step back, putting distance between herself and that terrifying gentleness.
"She woke up, Mother. She went from a naive child chasing approval to a woman who sees the world for what it is. She learned that kindness is just a gap in the armor where the knife goes in. She learned that sentiment is a liability that gets you killed."
Jennifer's eyes burned with a mixture of tears and venom.
