Page 184 of Toxic Kiss

Anita huffs at me the way a horse does an annoying fly.

“No. Cyrus is ill. He has a disease, and he needs help. I did the only thing I could.”

Each word is said with dramatic flair as if she’s auditioning for a movie. I glance around at those filming.

“I know you think I’m stupid. But you can’t just get someone locked up. So, tell me, who did you pay off to make this happen?” I fire back. “Was it a judge or maybe the doctor? Heck, you probably went full gusto and did both? Does my father know you’re out here committing criminal offenses to have his talent involuntarily admitted?”

Her lips press together briefly, then she smiles. There it is. The cold, vicious edge that I’ve only ever seen when we’re alone finally comes to the surface.

“Acting like the concerned girlfriend doesn’t really suit you,” she says.

“Funny…” I bite out with a mocking chuckle. “Motherhood never suited you, but here we are.”

Those nearby gasp and shift, their phones focused on the confrontation, and I look at them.

“Did you get that? She paid people to have Cyrus locked up because she’s a vindictive bitch, not a concerned mother,” I say loud enough for every single one of them to catch it.

Anita practically hisses as she takes a step closer, eyes full of rage.

“Careful, Haven,” Anita purrs. “You’re starting to sound emotional. Maybe it’s you who needs to be hospitalized, spreading such vicious lies.”

I laugh, but there is nothing humorous about this situation. The weight of the attention presses on me. There is a crackle in the air. Our audience is a pack of hyenas just waiting for the kill so they can swoop in for the scraps.

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing you never formally adopted me and can’t pay someone off to lock me up too,” I snap.

Her eyes meet mine, and her voice rises for the show.

“Spare me…you’ve never liked me, and now you’re trying to besmirch my good name.”

“Besmirch? Really? I know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re terrified,” I shoot back. “You’re losing him,” I continue, stepping closer, my voice dropping enough for just the two of us to hear. “He’s not listening to you anymore. He’s not doing what you want. And the worst part? He sees you for exactly what you are. It’s why he fired you. You’re only out for yourself. You are nothing but a conniving, manipulative, gaslighting narcissist.”

Anita’s expression hardens.

“Desperate,” I add, louder. “You’re nothing but a woman who would rather destroy her son than lose control over him.”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd.

She doesn’t blink.

“You think you’re special. That Cyrus chose you over me?”

She laughs, and all I can picture is the sea witch from The Little Mermaid.

“I know he has. You’re despicable. Who tells their son that they’re the cause of his father’s death when really it was all your fault? You and your affair. I bet you were salivating at the chance to be with my father. A grieving widower, in need of comfort, and you were just the perfect person to swoop in and console him.”

The silence that follows is sharp.

“Oh, I see now. So, my son has conveniently left out a few details, hasn’t he?”

My stomach tightens.

“What are you talking about?”

The look in her eyes is almost pitying.

“Your father,” she says, her voice just loud enough to carry. “He wasn’t a widower.”

“What?”