"You were in France with him!" I screamed, slamming my hand onto the marble table so hard the silverware rattled. "I saw the photo! You think you’re so clever, but he’s mine. He married me. You’re just a distraction. A temporary fix for a man who’s bored."
Chloe finally looked at me. Her eyes were full of a pity so profound, so devastating, it felt like a physical slap across my face. "Oh, honey. You think that was me in France?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Julian is a man of... specific tastes. He likes things that remind him of what he can't have. He likes symbols."
She leaned forward, resting her chin on those perfectly manicured hands, the hands that were supposed to be mine. "But let’s talk about reality, Delia. If I were you, I’d spend less time screaming at me and
