"He tells me everything now."
I've spent weeks being the one caught off guard, the one scrambling to catch up to what’s true and what’s not. She’s had the upper hand, but not today.
"Then you know I'm pregnant." Mila's hand drifts to her stomach in a gesture so theatrical it makes my skin crawl. "And you know there's a possibility?—"
"There's no fucking possibility, and you know it.”
Her eyebrows lift. "Devon wasverydrunk that night. He doesn't remember?—"
"He remembers enough." I lean forward, and I watch her lean back, like she’s wary of me. Good. "He remembers kissing you. He remembers stopping. He remembers you telling him the next morning that it was 'just a drunken kiss.' Those were your words, Mila. Not his."
Annoyance flickers across her face.
"People say things in the moment," she explains smoothly. "I was embarrassed. We both were."
"So now you're changing your story?"
"I'm telling you the truth." Her voice rises slightly, a crack in the composure. "We had sex, Jade. I know you don't want to hear it, but?—"
"No." The word comes out as a rasp, like I’m slowly climbing from the pits of hell, my voice scorched. "You're lying."
Mila's jaw tightens. "Why would I lie about this? Do you think Iwantto be pregnant by a married man? Do you thinkthisis what I imagined for my life?"
I watch her eyes as she speaks—the way they dart to the left, the slight flush climbing her neck. I've researched liars to write them accurately. And right now, Mila Harris is performing the role of her life.
"You've always wanted what's mine," I hiss. "Since high school. You couldn't stand that Devon choseme. That he lovedme. That no matter how many times you flipped your hair or touched his arm or made me feel like shit when he wasn't looking, he still came home to me."
Mila's mask slips. "That's not?—"
"You called me fat every chance you had.” My voice doesn't waver, even though the memory burns. "You took photos of me and told me you'd show everyone. You made me dread going to school, Mila. Every single day."
Her face has gone pale. "That was years ago. We were just kids?—"
"Iwas just a kid." I lean closer. "Youwere evil. You still are.”
It doesn’t feel like we’re in a coffee shop anymore. It’s like a battle-field—two women facing each other across years of damage.
"This isn't about high school," Mila finally mutters, her voice tight. "This is about what happened in New York."
"Then let's talk about New York." I fold my hands on the table, forcing them to stay still even though they want to wrap around her neck. "You said Devon followed you to your room. That he wanted to come inside."
"He did."
"You said he helped you out of your dress."
"Yes."
"And then you had sex."
Mila swallows, and her gaze lowers for a fraction of a second. "Yes."
Liar.
I let the silence hang for three heartbeats. Then I say softly: "If you fucked my husband, you'd know something intimate about him.” I smile, but it feels cold on my lips.
Her face goes blank. "What?"
"The piercing." I hold her gaze without blinking. "If you saw Devon naked, if you were intimate with him, you would have noticed it. So, tell me, Mila. Where is it?"
