Within minutes, Serena was in her office, eyes wide and still in the business of unfiltered fury. “You should call the cops,” she said. “This is footage. This is stalking. This is—”
“Proof,” Maylen finished.
“Yes.” Serena nodded like the knife had made sense in her mouth. “We should, Maylen. I’ll come with you.”
Maylen held the phone between them, the frozen frame a small, undeniable thing. She thought of Lanry on the pier, of his hand on the rail, of his possessive scent and the way obsession made him sulk and storm and clasp at her like a man mortally afraid of losing a thing he mistook for life.
She thought of burning flowers and staged photos and public shaming. She thought of the way revenge needed careful choreography.
“I’m not calling the cops,” she said finally, the decision t
