Turning on my heel, chest heaving and my vision blurred, I find Rose standing at the door. Her arms are crossed, and she's watching me, a smirk on her lips like she's enjoying seeing me break down.
Humiliation crashes over me.
“What the fuck do you want?” My voice shakes.
“Well, I did come to have a word.” Her gaze drifted over the overturned chairs, the cushions on the floor, my tear-streaked face. Her lips curve. “But seeing this,” she exhales a soft, delighted laugh. “This is much more entertaining. Please, don’t stop on my account. Maybe you'll slip, fall, and well, you catch my drift.”
The fuck.
Is she actually implying I should break my neck?
I grind my teeth so hard my jaw aches. “Get out.”
I see the wedding ring still gleaming on her finger. It's polished. Prominent. Like she's clinging to something that died a long time ago.
Delusional.
“I have nothing to say to you,” I bite out, my voice shaking. “And I’m not in the mood. So if you don't leave in the next three seconds, I will drag you out myself.”
She's the last person I want to see on any day.
But today? Today, it just feels cruel.
“You've always been one for tantrums.”
I point to myself. “Me? You wouldn't have the slightest clue what I was like.”
“River told me plenty,” she says casually. “But I didn't come here to watch your crocodile tears over your dad's birthday.”
My eye twitches.
This woman is going to get me arrested, and I would gladly get sent down for bashing her face in.
“I've come to tell you to stop sleeping with my husband.”
My entire body goes rigid.
There is absolutely no way she knows.
For one, she’s never seen us together. We have always been careful around others, and she hasn't been around enough to even figure it out.
I force a slow breath out.
“Ex-husband,” I correct coldly. “You're delusional if you think I’m sleeping with him.”
She walks closer.
Her eyes drag over me with open disgust. “Don’t lie to me. I can see the way you look at each other. You hated him once. And now you look at him like he hangs the moon.”
My fingers curl into fists, and I wish for nothing more than to give her a black eye.
I hate that she's figured it out, but I can't let her know that.
“You can think what you want; I don’t care.”
“You don't even know what kind of man he is.”
“He’s a decent man.” I defend.
