Page 101 of The Wright Man

Tina : So what we doing? Vibes or violence? I'm down for either.

Bella : We can move things to a hotel for the night? I know a cute all-suite hotel downtown.

For the first time in a long time, I felt bold. Petty. Free.

If Gavin wanted smoke? Fine. I'd give it to him.

SisterSisterSister Chat

Me: I'm choosing violence. Bring your asses here, as planned.

Me: He wanted to start some shit? Let's give him what he wants.

Their responses rolled in fast.

SisterSisterSister Chat

Tina : That's my bitch!

Bella : I smell an origin story in the works, and I support it.

I smiled. Not the tired, polite one I'd been wearing for months—but the real one. The reckless one. The one that came right before I made a bad decision and felt nothing but free about it.

I plugged in my phone, queued up my "Rich Bitch Serenity" playlist, and headed to the shower. Warm water. Lavender body wash. The kind of long, hot rinse that felt like armor sliding back onto my skin.

By the time I stepped out, Gavin wouldn't be dealing with the sweet, patient version of me he was used to.

Nah.

He was about to meet the Angelica who burned shit down.

And my sisters were bringing the matches.

* * *

By the time the doorbell rang, I was more than ready. I was built for this kind of chaos.

I floated down the stairs like a woman who knew her worth—and would gladly cut anyone who questioned it. My robe swished against my thighs, pink slippers soft and silent under my feet, curls fluffed to perfection and spilling from the pineapple on top of my head like a crown.

I felt fun. I felt flirty. I felt just a little bit dangerous.

My fluffy shorts clung to my hips like they were made to showcase my ass. The cotton crop top hugged my soft middle, belly button ring on full display—just to remind Gavin that I did get that piercing he whined about. And over it all, my prized Sailor Moon robe, thigh-length and star-girl magical. It was loud. It was nerdy. It was me.

I caught Gavin looking.

His eyes dragged over me for a second too long before he snorted, "Really, Angelica? You still wearing that fucking anime robe?"

Boyd and Theo tried—tried—to pretend they didn't just get caught looking at my ass. Failed spectacularly.

I ignored all three of them.

The moment I opened the front door, I was hit with the familiar warmth of my girls and the mouthwatering scent of Indian food. My face split into the kind of smile I hadn't worn in months.

"Taste the rainbow, bitches!" Tina sang as she stepped inside, holding up four bottles—two bottles of Sangria in one hand, two bottles of Moscato in the other. Her leopard print pajama set clung to her like it was scared to let go, and her robe flowed behind her like a villainess. Her hair was slicked back into a puff that looked ready for war, and her nails clicked like weapons when she hugged me.

Bella was close behind, balancing two heavy bags of food with ease, glowing like some kind of dewy angel assassin. Her powder blue loungewear hugged her abs, her short black curls were reclaiming their glory, and her white pedicure made me want to schedule an emergency appointment.

Squeals. Hugs. A flurry of kisses and compliments. It was borderline obnoxious—and completely necessary.