The door of the Ren residence closed softly behind Molly Martins.
She stood on the stone steps for a long moment, sunlight falling across her shoulders, warm and bright in sharp contrast to the heaviness lodged in her chest. The air outside was fresh, yet she found it difficult to breathe.
Only when the chauffeur opened the car door did she move.
"Miss Molly," he said respectfully.
She nodded once and got in.
The door shut.
The car began to move.
Only then did Molly allow herself to relax her posture. Her back sank against the leather seat, and she closed her eyes briefly, pressing her fingers together to stop their slight tremble.
Persuade Lily.
The words replayed in her mind like a dull echo.
Grandpa Henry had spoken as if it were the most natural thing in the world—asking her, of all people, to interfere in Lily's marriage. As if her position were obvious. As if her heart had never been wounded.
Her lips curved into a faint, self-mocking smile.
