Sara
Sara sat across from Kingsley, her fingers resting lightly around the juice bottle he had given her earlier, though she had long stopped drinking it.
Her mind kept circling back to what he had said before, about recognizing her birthmark, about the way his expression had changed the moment he saw it.
She finally broke the silence.
“Kingsley,” she said, her voice steady but thoughtful, “you never finished what you were saying yesterday. About my birthmark.”
Kingsley, who had been leaning slightly against the desk, straightened and looked at her. For a brief moment, it seemed like he might brush the question aside, but then his expression shifted into something more serious.
“I did not want to say too much yesterday,” he admitted, his tone calm. “You were already overwhelmed, and
