A gentle, but firm knock vibrates my front door. It’s almost becoming an instinct for my heart to skip a few beats whenever I hear any noise in the manor. Surely, that can’t be healthy. Maybe I’Il eat some Cheerios. They say those are good for the heart, right? I walk over to the window next to the door, peeking through the curtain to see who it is. I groan. I want to be relieved that it’s not some creepy ass dude outside my door, holding a gun and spouting about how if he can’t have me, nobody can. Really, I do. So all I am is a little sad that it’s not the persistent shadow ready to end my life. With a heavy sigh, I swing open the door and greet Sarina Reilly—my mother. Her blonde hair is tucked tightly into a chignon, pink lipstick painted on her thin lips, and icy blue eyes. She’s so prim and proper, and I’m so... not. Where she holds herself with regality and grace, I have a terrible habit of slumping and sitting with my legs open. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mom?” I ask dryly. She sniffs, unimpressed with my attitude. “It’s cold out here. Aren’t you going to invite me in?” she snips, waving an impatient hand for me to move. When I reluctantly step aside, she pushes past me, a wisp of her Chanel perfume trailing in her wake. I cringe at the smell.