My son’s fiancée forcibly cut my hair in the garden, laughing, « You’re a decrepit relic. He’ll never believe you. » She didn’t know my billionaire son came home early.
He stood behind her, watching the abuse. She tried to play the victim, but he picked up her phone. « You forgot you were recording, » he whispered.
When he pressed play, her life was over.
« Hold still, you old thing—this is the only makeover you’re getting, » Serena crooned, the cold steel of the scissors flashing in the afternoon sun.
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