Just as Hellen's fist cocked back for the decisive blow and Reyes' knee drove upward in lethal counter, a soft, trembling voice sliced through the snarling haze like a lifeline—her unique scent scent blooming faint but insistent from the foyer shadows.
They froze mid-strike, muscles locked taut, heads whipping synchronized toward the sound—Emily leaned precariously over the polished oak banister, raven hair plastered damp wild in loose waves from her interrupted bath. The water droplets tracing glistening trails down her skin.
A thin white towel clung precarious to her full curves—precariously knotted at her cleavage, hem barely skimming plush thighs slick-shined, emerald eyes wide and shimmering with masked hurt, full lips pursed in that signature pout, one hand gripping the rail knuckles-white for balance as bathwater pooled pink-toed at her feet.
