She shrugs lightly. “I let them think whatever they wanted.”
“Oaks is in jail,” I say, and my voice shakes on the last word.
Her lips curve. “Yes. I heard.”
“You didn’t stop it.”
“Why would I?”
My stomach drops so hard I feel it behind my eyes.
She walks toward the glass case like she’s browsing jewelry instead of standing in front of the girl her husband just went to jail for protecting. Like she didn’t detonate my whole life and then go get a massage.
I grip the counter to keep my hands from shaking. “What game are you playing?”
Her eyes flash, and for the first time her polish slips enough to show the anger underneath.
“You think I’m done?” she murmurs. “You think you win because he sacrificed himself for you?”
Heat crawls up my neck. My humiliation flares so hot it tastes metallic.
“I don’t want him,” I lie, because my pride is stupid even when my life is on fire.
She laughs softly. “Oh, honey. You glow.”
The insult lands deep. It ain’t about sex. It’s about the fact that she can see what I feel, like my skin is giving me away no matter what my mouth says.
“You let everyone think I pushed you,” I say again, because I need her to say it out loud. I need the truth to exist where it can’t be twisted.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Her smile fades.
“Because I wanted to see what he’d do.”
The words hit like a slap.
“And he chose you,” she continues, voice tightening just slightly. “That’s what I needed to know.”
Something inside her cracks then. Not a breakdown. Not tears. Just a hairline fracture where control stops being pretty and starts being dangerous.
“And I don’t like it.”
Before I can move, she grabs the metal stool beside the counter and slams it into the glass case.
It shatters.
The sound is deafening. I scream and stumble back as shards scatter across the floor like ice exploding. Bethany reaches into the broken display without hesitation and pulls out a hunting knife from the collectibles section. She holds it up, studying the blade like she’s considering a manicure tool.
“You think you’re special?” she says quietly.
“Put that down,” I whisper, because my lungs are tight and my brain is behind my body again.
She steps toward me.
“I’m going to fix this,” she says. “I’m going to make sure he doesn’t want you anymore.”
