Dianne stared at her reflection and barely recognized the woman looking back.
Her lipstick was flawless. Her hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders. Her dress clung to her body in all the right places—expensive, elegant, calculated. Everything about her appearance said composed.
Everything inside her was unraveling.
She pressed her palms against the marble countertop of her bathroom, knuckles whitening as she leaned forward. The room smelled faintly of jasmine and something metallic—fear, if fear had a scent.
Joseph's face rose unbidden in her mind.
Not angry.
Not pleading.
Not desperate.
Controlled.
That was what terrified her.
When she had revealed the pregnancy claim, she had expected something. Shock. Panic. Guilt. Even reluctant tenderness would have been acceptable.
But Joseph had gone still.
Too still.
