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Fuck.

“Elizabeth,” Charlotte greeted, tone rather clipped.

Ali struggled to collect her warring emotion, unsurprised by the wetness gathered between her thighs.

I’m so screwed.

There would be no getting out of this unscathed. But as bits and pieces of Charlotte’s conversation floated back to her, Ali knew she wouldn’t walk away. She couldn’t. She would let Charlotte consume her whole if it meant five more minutes with her. It would be a lie to say she wasn’t terrified. In her short years, she loved and lost more than most.

Previous relationships? Her single existence was a testament to her success, or lack thereof. The last one left her broken and piecing herself into some sort of strange mosaic.

In the beginning, everything felt like a dream. She seemed like a dream and the best thing since sliced bread. But over time she changed, morphing into something insidious. That was the problem with narcissists. All too well she recalled being worn down, manipulated, and gaslit. So much damage was done, Ali hardly recognized herself.

Charlotte seemed good and perfect in many ways. But Ali was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Besides, Charlotte would never be interested in something serious with her. Things were scheduled to end, one way or another. And that was… fine.

Terrifying, but fine.

She needed a plan. Perhaps she should apply for a few artist residencies. Just to be safe. Let fate decide where she wound up next, just like always.

11

CHARLOTTE

“I don’t even understand how she’s managed to do it!” Lizzie’s panicked voice trumpeted down the line.

Charlotte jerked the phone away, glaring at it before bringing it back to her ear and pinching the bridge of her nose, preparing for the worst.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t even know and I was fucking there,” Lizzie groused. “Web of LIES!”

Charlotte could make out the sound of cabinets banging and glass clinking.

“Queen of manipulations. Driving me to drink. I hate bourbon. Why is it the only thing my fiancée has stocked here?”

“I’m not certain. It’s her favorite?”

A coughing gagging sound came through the line next.

“Oh, it’s awful,” Lizzie spluttered. “So bad.”

“Why are you drinking?” Charlotte asked, hearing the clink of fine crystal no doubt containing whatever priceless bourbon meant to be sipped slowly.

“Gotta take the edge off, otherwise I’m going to fucking strangle her. And I just know she’d find a way to resurrect herself and spin it so it’s my fault.”

“Technically—”

“She would deserve it! But I’m a doctor. I could definitely make it look like an accident.”

A shadow of a chuckle tumbled off her lips as she leaned against the kitchen counter, looking through the window on the far living room wall. It never failed to be amusing when Lizzie got a bit murdery.

“Just to be clear, who are we unaliving?”

Charlotte already knew.

“Fucking Vicki—that bitch!”

Dread trickled down her spine to settle in her stomach, banishing the warmth from being wrapped up in Ali moments ago.