Ella
The moment Paige snapped, I knew.
Not because she raised her voice Paige had always known how to weaponize softness, but because her smile faltered for half a second too long.
It cracked, just barely, like porcelain under pressure. And on live television, half a second was enough to doom you.
“I—I don’t know what Ella is talking about,” Paige said, laughing lightly, one manicured hand lifting to tuck hair behind her ear. “That fire was a tragedy. Everyone knows that. Bringing it up now just feels… inappropriate.”
Inappropriate.
The word buzzed in my head like a mosquito I’d waited fifteen years to swat.
I didn’t interrupt her. I didn’t need to. Silence, I had learned, was often deadlier than anger. I let her keep talking, let her dig the hole herself while millions watched.
T
