(Ashley’s Point of View)
The world snaps back into focus with the brutal, crystalline clarity of a camera lens. The soft, hazy blur of the almost-kiss, the fleeting, dangerous hope of it, is incinerated by the cold fire in Nicole’s eyes. She stands in the doorway, a shimmering golden statue of righteous fury, and the space between me and Scott becomes a desolate, charged no-man's-land. The roar of the fountains has ceased, leaving a ringing silence that is somehow louder and more terrifying.
Nicole’s approach is a masterclass in psychological warfare. She doesn’t scream. She doesn’t cry. That would be a confession of hurt, an admission of vulnerability she is far too proud to make. Instead, she glides forward, her movements fluid and predatory. She ignores me completely, as if I am nothi
