Imogene Scott
“She stole it,” I whisper, the words barely audible even to myself.
My mind races, a mix of confusion and anger bubbling to the surface. How could she do this? How could she take what’s mine and pass it off as her own?
I can’t wrap my head around the fact that she actually stole my work. My heart thumps and my pulse quickens. I glance at Keith, who’s watching the ad with a neutral expression. My hands clench into fists in my lap. I feel a wave of nausea rise in my throat, a sickening realization of the fact that this woman I used to look up to and trusted could actually stab me in the back.
As the ad ends and the lights come back up, I can’t move, can’t speak. All I can do is sit there, reeling from the shock of what I’ve just seen. And what to do next.
Keith turns to m
