Violet let out a soft, pitying sigh, the kind she'd use if he told her he still believed in the Easter Bunny.
"Sorry, son," she said, not sounding sorry at all. "That girl lost count of her clients years ago. She used to serve four to six men a night for the better part of six years. She's a legend, just not the kind you marry."
Seron hit the back of his seat like he'd been physically struck, the air leaving his lungs in a sharp whoosh. He stared at the ceiling of the car, looking every bit like a man who had just realized his innocent girlfriend's resume was longer than the Byron Corporation's payroll.
The silence in the car was no longer just tense; it was suffocating. Seron sat there, the realization hitting him like a physical blow to the chest. He had traded a diamond for a piece of glass that had been handled by everyone in the city.
