Serafina
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Unknown number.
I swiped.
You think you can take what’s mine? — E
Another message dropped before I could roll my eyes:
He’ll never be yours. Try again, sweetheart.
Then a photo—Eva with her mouth on Dante’s jaw, her hand possessive on his chest.
I laughed, short and sharp. “Pathetic.”
Amelia padded in, drowning in one of my shirts, hair a storm. “Who’s delusional before coffee?”
“Your favorite blonde catastrophe.” I flicked her the phone.
I didn’t delete the photo. I typed, clean and cruel:
You had him once. But men like Dante don’t marry whores.
Send.
Three dots. Stop. Three dots. Stop.
Nothing.
“Silence suits her,” I said, and set the phone down.
It buzzed again.
Watch your mouth, princess. He comes back to me
