The walk-in closet was the only place in the house that didn't feel like it was watching her.
Raya sat on the plush carpet, her back resting against a mirrored cabinet, knees drawn up to her chest. The lights were dimmed to a soft amber glow, reflecting gently off rows of perfectly arranged dresses, shoes, and handbags that cost more than most people's lives. The scent of leather, silk, and expensive perfume lingered in the air, calming in a way nothing else in the mansion ever was.
This closet had become her refuge.
Not the bedroom. Not the balcony. Not even the bathroom with its marble tub and gold fixtures.
Here.
Here, surrounded by Seraphina Hart's carefully curated life, Raya could breathe. The irony wasn't lost on her. She found peace sitting inside another woman's luxury, even preparing to marry another woman's fiancé.
Seraphina's phone rested loosely in her hand as she scrolled without really seeing anything.
