Reed
The divorce papers were still there.
Mocking me.
Sitting on Voss’ desk like they owned the f*****g room, like they were some sacred document carved by the gods themselves. Second copy. Freshly printed. Still crisp. Still bearing Rayne’s signature at the bottom, bold and cold and final.
I stared at them, chest heaving. My neck throbbed with pain from my failed suicide attempt, dried blood caked like graffiti. Every inch of me itched to rip them apart, to tear that paper into shreds so fine no one would ever be able to piece it together again.
But then Ash’s voice echoed inside my head, sharp and unrelenting.
“Don’t even think about it, Reed. You’re already skating on the edge of hell. Don’t light the match.”
For once, I listened.
Maybe because I didn’t have the energy to argue.
