She leaned in close, the sickeningly sweet scent of jasmine and vanilla radiating off her skin, smothering the scent of the funeral lilies.

“Looks like I win,” she whispered, the words meant only for the hollow of my ear.

A wildfire ignited in my throat.

For one blinding, agonizing second, I stopped being a grieving mother.

I was a tempest of pure violence.

I wanted to rip that ridiculous netting from her hair.

I wanted to seize Evan by his immaculate, starched collar and drag him across the stone.