The woman in the doorway moved with a grace that seemed to defy physics. Her long black hair cascaded over her shoulders like silk, and her face held the kind of perfect symmetry that made photographers weep with joy. But what made my heart stop wasn't her beauty.
It was the fact that she was walking.
Serena Monroe. The paralyzed heiress who hadn't taken a single step in over three years. The woman whose wheelchair had been a permanent fixture at every social event in New York City.
She was walking toward us with fluid, confident strides.
"Serena?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.
The entire room had gone dead silent. Cameras swiveled toward her, operators frantically adjusting their equipment to capture what appeared to be a miracle unfolding in real time.
