I blink, thinking maybe I’ve conjured her up from memory, some twisted fantasy playing tricks on me. But no—everyone sees her.
Including Ariana, who stiffens at my side.
And instead of coming to me—like I want her to—she walks straight to Ariana.
Ariana’s hand drops from mine. Her little fingers reach for the woman’s wrist just as she places her palm on her cheek.
“What are you doing here?” the stepmother snaps.
The redhead doesn’t even look at her. Instead, she tucks a piece of Ariana’s hair behind her ear and says, gently, “Hey, Sweet.”
Ariana’s whole face shifts. She softens. Breathes. Smiles. “Hey, Tart.”
It’s like watching a flower bloom under the right sun. The shy, nervous girl I was introduced to disappears in that moment—replaced by someone alive. Safe. Loved.
And I just... stare.
She changed her. In a heartbeat.
No threats. No permission. No fear.
And somehow, that shakes me more than anything.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” the stepmother spits.
“What the fuck is going on?” I finally say, my voice rougher than I intended.
The redhead finally turns to me.
And when her eyes meet mine, it’s a collision.
Her eyes are sharp. Piercing. Green like deep forest canopies after a storm—rich, endless, alive. I’ve seen the rarest stones in the world—flawless emeralds, glacial sapphires, diamonds that have never touched light until they reached my hands.
None of them compare to her.
She looks at me like she could gut me with a whisper.
“You’re Langston Blackwell,” she says.
“And you are?” I ask, though I alreadyknow.
My girl.
God help me—I thought it before I could stop it.
Mrs. Kensington scoffs. “Sabrina. She had no right to show up.”
“I had every right,” she snaps, arm sliding protectively around Ariana. “She’s my sister.”
My stomach drops.
Sister?
“Half-sister,” the stepmother corrects, voice acidic.
“You have another daughter?” I turn to Mr. Kensington. My father didn’t mention this. No files. No photos. No warning.
“From my first marriage,” he says, tight-lipped. “Not involved in the family. Not relevant.”
