The sight of Chloe’s cruelty toward Celine dug under my skin like a burr. Each sharp word, each quiet sob that followed, stoked something fierce inside me—an animal instinct that wanted to snap back, to roar and make the hurt stop. I imagined stepping forward and making Chloe understand the cost of her careless barbs.
That push and pull kept me restless. I wanted boundaries—clear, firm lines that would shield Celine from further harm. But every time I steeled myself to speak, Chloe’s calm would wash over me, and the words slid back into my throat.
“Don’t worry about that poverty-stricken nobody. Focus on me and what I have to offer,” she says. As she slowly and gradually ran her finger down my jawline to my neck then to my chest.
“You know, other guys would be begging to let me get this
