Sophia
Cracks, a little at a time.
I fled out of the hotel, blinded by my own rage and the sour taste of something I hadn't rightly placed in my mind.
I hailed a cab immediately, and luckily, there was one that had just dropped off some people. I got in and told the driver where I was headed.
I'd barely gotten home when I got a call.
Hatred was a fire.
It didn’t just burn; it overwhelmed me, spreading through my veins like poison, making my skin itch, my chest tight, and my fingers curl into fists as I sat motionless on my bed, replaying that goddamn phone call over and over.
"We had to make you hate Ricci so that you wouldn’t turn back from the plan in the end."
As if I were so soft that I needed their interference to keep my resolve. A motivation?
That was something cheap. Noth
