Scarlett's POV
Ma'am Olivia stepped fully into the guest room, shutting the door behind her. The click of the lock felt loud, cutting off the rest of the mansion and trapping the two of us inside. I didn't move from the edge of the bed. I kept my posture rigid, my arms crossed over my chest as I watched her every move. The last time I had seen this woman, she had looked at me with cold, calculated determination—the look of a mother willing to sacrifice anything, or anyone, to alter the threads of fate. Today, she looked older. The sharp elegance she usually carried around like armor seemed slightly frayed at the edges.
She stood near the door for a long, heavy moment, her eyes sweeping over my face, scanning the changes five years of independence had written on features she used to know. There was a strange flicker of emotion in her eyes, a mixture of disbelief and something that looked like guilt, before she finally cleared her throat.
