HER REVENGE

chapter 16

Alina POV

The night after the blow-up with Dante felt like it lasted a year.

I’d fallen asleep in my clothes, half-curled on the far edge of the bed, my hand throbbing from gripping that stupid shard of metal. Dante hadn’t said a word after my last scream—just sat there, watching me, like he was waiting for me to run out of fuel. Eventually, I had. I hated that he looked so calm while I felt like my veins were on fire.

When morning came, I needed air that didn’t taste like arguments.

The shower was too hot, almost scalding, but I stayed under it until my skin flushed pink. Then I pulled my hair into a tight, high ponytail, swiped some lipstick on like war paint, and grabbed my purse. No note for Dante. No breakfast. Not even a glance at him if he was awake.

The driver dropped me in front of a luxury boutique whose window displays were practically whispering you don’t belong here. Not that I cared. The glass doors parted with that faint whoosh and the scent of leather, perfume, and expensive fabric swallowed me whole.

The floor gleamed. Mannequins in tailored dresses stared at me with their painted-on indifference. I slid my sunglasses up to the top of my head, took a basket, and started down the first aisle.

Fingers ran along silk blouses, sequined skirts. My mind wasn’t on clothes—it was on the way Dante’s voice had wrapped around my ear last night, low and almost… soft. Like he thought I still cared enough to be swayed by it. The nerve.

I was halfway down the row of handbags when something slammed into my shoulder hard enough to jolt me sideways.

“Ow—” The word ripped out of me as my arm flared with pain.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” The voice came quickly, female, breathless.

I turned, rubbing my arm. The woman in front of me looked like she’d been dragged through the morning backwards. Her hair was half-pulled into a bun but already falling loose in messy strands. The short dress she wore was wrinkled, the neckline a little crooked, and she had that brittle, exhausted look in her eyes that no concealer could hide.

“It’s fine,” I muttered, adjusting my purse strap. My shoulder still ached where she’d hit it.

She nodded quickly, stepping back. “Yeah, sorry again.”

I was about to walk off—had already turned—when I heard it.

“Alina?”

She called my name like she wasn’t sure she should be saying it.

I turned halfway, brows drawn together. “Yes?”

The woman straightened, as if she’d just connected two puzzle pieces. “You’re… Barry’s ex-wife, aren’t you?”

The name scraped across my skin like broken glass. My lips parted, but nothing came out. I just stared at her.

She didn’t wait for me to answer. “I’m Elizabeth,” she said, like it should mean something to me. “George’s girlfriend.”

The name George dropped into my chest like a stone.

The same George who used to tag along with Barry at every barbecue, who had that crooked grin and smelled faintly of motor oil and aftershave. The guy who once carried me to the car when I sprained my ankle, laughing the whole way. If she knew Barry, and was George's girlfriend…

A laugh bubbled out of me before I could stop it. “George,” I repeated, almost disbelieving. Then I stepped forward and hugged her. I didn’t even know why—maybe because she was a piece of the before, back when I thought loyalty meant something.

She stiffened in surprise before hugging me back, her perfume faint and floral.

When we pulled apart, I was already half-turned toward the next aisle. “It’s nice seeing you, Elizabeth. I’ve got to finish shopping—”

“Oh, wait,” she blurted, stepping after me.

I glanced over my shoulder. “I really need to—”

“It’s just…” Her voice dropped, eyes darting like she was checking for eavesdroppers. “I’m pregnant.”

The basket in my hand felt suddenly heavier. “Okay…”

“For George,” she clarified, like I needed that spelled out. “And Barry… he’s… well, he’s been telling George to make me get rid of it.”

I stopped walking. Completely.

The noise of the store faded, replaced by the rush of blood in my ears. I turned fully to her, my heart pounding against my ribs.

“What?”

She swallowed, her lipstick smudged at the corner of her mouth. “Barry’s supporting George. Pressuring him. He said… it’d be better if the baby wasn’t… if it didn’t happen. He thinks it’s a mistake, and—”

The rest of her words blurred into static.

My fingers tightened around the basket’s handle until the thin metal dug into my palm. Barry’s voice, smug, patronizing, echoed in my memory, from years ago when I still believed he was worth my time. Now he was still out there, still meddling, still leaving his fingerprints on people’s lives like he had the right.

I stared at Elizabeth, my chest rising and falling too fast. Maybe I should ask her to file a case so that Barry would spend a lot of money defending his name.

Elizabeth’s lips kept moving, but I was done hearing. What she’d already said was enough to chew on for the rest of the day… maybe the rest of the month.

Her eyes darted over my face, searching for something, sympathy, outrage, a me too moment, I couldn’t tell. The problem was my face had gone completely still. I could feel it: the kind of stillness you get when you’re trying not to let the thoughts stampeding in your head leak out your mouth.

Apparently, my stillness said something loud.

“You look… like… like you just saw a ghost,” she said, voice pitched high, brittle.

I made myself blink, slow. “Do I?”

“Yes. And not, like, a good ghost. More like… a ghost who owes you money.” She laughed at her own joke, then immediately sobered, looking me up and down. “God, maybe I shouldn’t have told you. I don’t even know why I—”

She turned on her heel, muttering something about forgetting it, about just “handling it” herself.

“Elizabeth.”

She stopped mid-step but didn’t turn.

“Have you ever thought about taking this to court?”

Her head whipped back toward me like I’d just offered her a free mansion. “Court?”

“Yes. Court. The place with judges and gavels and verdicts.” I set the basket down on the nearest display table like I was freeing my hands for this conversation.

“You’re being pressured to terminate a pregnancy you clearly want. That’s coercion. If you have proof,texts, recordings, witnesses,you could file for damages. Big ones.”

Her jaw dropped. “Wait, wait, wait… are you saying I could sue Barry?”

I gave her a thin smile. “Barry. George. Whoever’s name ends up on the paperwork. If there’s money and a bad reputation to lose, they’re fair game.”

Elizabeth’s pupils dilated like she’d just spotted a clearance rack in a luxury store. “Oh my God… that’s genius. And I could actually get paid? Like… baby fund paid?”

“Not just baby funds,” I said, stepping closer, voice lowering like we were swapping trade secrets. “Extra cash. Enough to cover more than diapers. We've been talking about security for years, if you play it right.”

She let out a squeal so high-pitched the sales associate across the room flinched. Then she launched herself at me, arms winding around my neck like we’d been lifelong best friends reunited after a war.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re like—” she pulled back just enough to look me in the eye, “like a guardian angel in lipstick.”

I gave a little shrug, hiding the way my lips curled at the edges. “I’ve been called worse.”

Inside, though, the satisfaction was sharp and sweet.

Not because I cared about Elizabeth’s baby. Not because I gave a damn about “justice” in the Hallmark sense.

Because Barry—smug, bulletproof Barry—might finally have to squirm in a way that left a stain he couldn’t scrub off.

Elizabeth didn’t need to know that part.

“I mean, seriously,” she went on, releasing me only to grip my arms in that too-tight way people do when they’re vibrating with drama. “George will die. And Barry? Barry will, like, combust. I should get a camera. This is going to be so good.”

“Focus,” I said, keeping my tone flat enough to slice through her giddiness. “This isn’t about theatrics. It’s about building a case. You need to keep every message, every voicemail. No deleting. And don’t warn them—you want them comfortable enough to say something incriminating.”

Her grin was almost unhinged. “Oh, I can do that. I’m amazing at pretending everything’s fine when I’m secretly plotting revenge. I once made my roommate think I was over her stealing my moisturizer, and then I—”

“Elizabeth.”

She snapped her mouth shut, eyes wide. “Right. Sorry. Focus.”

A silence settled between us for a beat. The low murmur of shoppers and the faint hum of the boutique’s air conditioning filled it. I studied her,really studied her. The way her energy seemed to leak out of her in little bursts, erratic and unpredictable. The faint tremor in her hands didn't match the wild confidence in her smile.

She was chaos in heels. And chaos had its uses.

“You’ll need a good lawyer,” I said finally. “One that’ll scare them into settling before it ever reaches trial.”

“Oh, I know a guy!” she said, clapping her hands together. “Well, I don’t know him, know him, but I follow him on i********: and he has a podcast. He’s always saying stuff like ‘I’ll bleed them dry in litigation.’ I could DM him—”

“Find someone real,” I interrupted. “Someone whose face isn’t next to a smoothie recipe on social media.”

Elizabeth laughed again, loud and unfiltered, earning a glance from the same sales associate. She ignored it, leaning in closer like we were co-conspirators. “You’re scary, you know that?”

“Good,” I said.

For a moment, she just stared at me—maybe trying to decide if she should be impressed or terrified. Then she grinned like she’d decided on both.

“Have you ever thought about going into law?” she asked.

I almost smiled. “No. I just know what makes people miserable.”

That made her laugh even harder. She fanned herself with one hand, still giggling. “God, Barry has no idea what’s coming.”

My eyes drifted to the rack of handbags beside us, but in my mind, I wasn’t looking at leather and gold hardware. I was picturing Barry’s face when the first legal notice hit his perfect little mailbox. The way his confidence would c***k, even for a second. That was the image I wanted to frame and hang in my mind forever.

Elizabeth looped her arm through mine suddenly, jerking me back into the present. “Let’s go get coffee. My treat. I need to write all this down before I forget, and I work better with caffeine.”

I hesitated. “You’re not writing any of this down where someone can find it.”

“Oh, right. Brain only. Got it.” She tapped her temple, then leaned closer with a conspiratorial.