She doesn’t argue as she stalks away, her head held high, her hair a mess, and her heels clicking on the wooden floorboards with every step. Nothing in her posture indicates that she lost our battle. I could’ve killed her if I wanted to. But she won.
And she knows it.
Sitting heavily in my chair, I stare at our plates of food. Camila didn’t touch anything. In fact, she actively refuses every kind gesture I make. I’ve never had someone reject me so thoroughly. My mind is frazzled as it tries to process what the hell just happened.
A ringing comes from my pocket. Still distracted, I put my phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“You’re not going to get away with this.”
An icy waterfall drenches me, clearing my mind of the haze of Camila. The voice on the line is thick, gritty, and easy to recognize.
