Her heart beat louder. She brought the shirt closer to her face, disbelief tightening in her chest. That wasn’t her shade. She never wore lipstick like that. She hesitated, then inhaled—and her stomach dropped. A soft, floral scent clung to the fabric. Not hers, but definitely familiar… It was Rosa’s.
Clara stood still, gripping the shirt with trembling fingers. For a long moment, she just stared at it. Then something in her cracked. She turned, walked down the stairs fast and sharp, her footsteps loud enough to make Marc look up from the couch, startled.