Celia burst into laughter, loud and sharp, as though Emilia had just told the most pitiful joke in the world. The sound echoed through the lobby—mocking, dripping with disbelief and condescension.
It wasn’t just laughter. It was sarcasm wrapped in spite.
“Are you being serious right now, Emilia?” Celia asked, wiping the corner of her eye as though Emilia’s words had genuinely amused her. “I should go to hell? Do you even hear the way you talk to me? Who do you think you’re speaking to? A loser like you?”
She stepped closer, voice lowering into something venomous.
“Oh, wipe that stupid smirk off your face.”
She glared at Emilia like she wanted to rip the expression right off her skin.
And Emilia froze—not because she was afraid, but because her mind flickered back to what Dante had to
