This isn't a woman scorned—it’s something much worse.
I call Jade immediately.
"Hey, I was about to?—"
"Where are you?" My voice comes out harsh, urgent. "Exactly where?"
"I'm—Devon, what's wrong? I'm at the nail salon with Katrina. What happened?"
"She came to the gym. Mila. She had a complete breakdown in front of everyone."
Jade is silent for a moment. Then: "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
“Fuck, Devon.”
I close my eyes. “The police came and arrested her.”
I hear Katrina asking what's wrong in the background.
"I'm coming home," Jade says. "Right now."
"I'll meet you there."
"It’s okay, Devon.” Her voice is steady, stronger than I expect. "We'll figure this out."
She hangs up, and I grab my keys.
But I know Mila isn't done with us.
She's not even close.
Chapter Thirty-Three
JADE
Katrina guides me to the passenger seat of her BMW and pulls out of the nail salon parking lot before I can blink. My toes are still tacky—the polish not fully set—and I stare at them like they belong to someone else.
"Tell me again," Katrina says, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. "What exactly did he say?"
"She had a breakdown. At the gym. In front of everyone." I repeat Devon's words mechanically, my brain still catching up to the facts. “She got arrested!”
"Jesus Christ."
I press my palm against my stomach, feeling the ball of anxiety there. "She's escalating, Kat. The restraining order didn't do anything."
"It got her arrested.” Katrina's jaw is set, her eyes fixed on the road. "This is harassment. Stalking. Criminal behavior."
I want to believe her. I want to feel the same anger that's radiating off her in waves.
Instead, I feel sick.
We stop at a red light, and my gaze drifts to the sidewalk outside. Awoman is walking toward the crosswalk, pushing a stroller. She's young—my age, maybe younger—with a ponytail swinging behind her and one hand resting on her rounded belly.
She’s a mother, with another one on the way.
I watch her pause at the corner, bending down to adjust something in the stroller. The baby inside kicks its feet, and even from here I can see the woman smile—that soft, unconscious smile that mothers have. Like the world makes sense because of the life she's created.
