I leaned back in my chair, fingers wrapped loosely around my whiskey glass, watching Sarah sipped her wine with an air of victory. The dim lighting of the upscale restaurant cast a warm glow on the crisp white tablecloth, the hum of conversation around us fading into the background.
Sarah thought she had won.
She believed she had finally gotten what she wanted: me, alone, vulnerable, and on the verge of breaking. She saw the doubt in my eyes, the way my shoulders carried the weight of unspoken thoughts, and she thought she had succeeded in driving a wedge between me and Grachelle.
She had no idea she was walking straight into a trap.
“I’m glad you finally called,” Sarah purred, carefully setting her glass down. Her nails, painted a deep crimson, drummed lightly against the stem. “I was
