Page 341 of Mad Girl

In Michael’s bed at the beach.

Covering my breasts with his sheet.

It would hardly prove anything…

Except for the bite mark on my bare shoulder.

My ears started ringing. “Where did you get that?”

“Off Michael’s phone,” she said, proudly jerking the phone back. “Found it while he was sleeping a few months ago. Found pictures of you all over his camera roll, in fact—but none more incriminating than this one.” She smiled sweetly, twisting a strand of blonde hair, then leaned in like we were a couple of girlfriends, sharing gossip. “Not that it was wrong of you to sleep with Michael. I just can’t figure out why you’re both so determined to hide it. Like, why not just own it? Why not just say, ‘Yeah, we hook up sometimes’? What’s the big deal?”

I could’ve told her we’d never actually slept together. Could’ve said our personal history wasn’t any of her business. Could’ve told her she had it all wrong—we were just making out, and I’d asked him to bite me. Because I was a greedy bitch, too. For pain.

He’d only snapped the picture at all because you, Casey, had just texted him for an update. I’d reached for the phone. We’d laughed. I’d asked him to delete it. He’d promised he would.

And I thought he had.

But I’d rather gouge my own eyes out than ever give Sienna an explanation she didn’t deserve. So I stood there, quietly seething, choosing to say nothing.

Her gaze dropped to my clenched fists then flicked back up, eyes sharpening on my face. “It’s so unfortunate, you know? That it finally ended with Michael. Because when I say the sexual chemistry was great, Elliot? It was really great.” She flicked her eyes at the ceiling. “With Casey, too. Different, of course. Dirtier, definitely. But in the best way possible. Casey’s more vocal. More…uninhibited.”

Rage slithered through my veins. I clenched my hands tighter, trying not to throw my phone at her perfect, poisonous face. I’d forgotten your history with her until right then, and it hit especially hard now—after I’d been with you. In the heat of the moment, had you said those same things to her? Called her love?

Unfortunately, that’s exactly what she wanted: a reaction. To see if it bothered me. To know if she was right.

“There it is,” she said quietly, like she’d struck gold right there in my living room. “There’s the reason. Casey’s the big deal.”

“I’m going to kindly ask you to get out of my house,” I said, “before I put a dent in your face.” Your footsteps sounded on the stairs, and I panicked, worried she’d keep going on about Michael and you’d hear. But she changed the subject.

“Oh, I’m tempted to let you,” she said with a vile grin, “so I can accept another massive payout from your dad to keep me from pressing charges.”

I blinked back at her, stunned, vaguely aware that you were entering the room, back with the book you’d promised her.

“Oops,” she said, hand flying to her chest. “I guess he didn’t tell you about that, huh?” Her eyes gleamed with cruel amusement. “The money was great, Elliot. The money was enough to keep me silent. But then also getting to witness that whole fucked-up performance—where you confessed how jealous you were of me right before you cried like a baby and begged for my forgiveness, and your dad, like, sat there and let you do that, even after he paid me to keep quiet—was totally worth feeling like my eyeball had been dipped in battery acid and having to wear that ugly patch for the next two weeks.”

My dad’s betrayal hit deep. I fought back scalding tears as I lunged at her, but you jerked me back by my sweatshirt.

“Alright, Sienna.” You reached past me to hand her the book. “Time for you to go now.”

She pressed her ruby red lips into a wicked smirk before walking away.

You stared after her as she left. “Rather mean of her to tell you that, wasn’t it?” you asked, but you could’ve been commenting on the weather for how indifferent you sounded on the topic.

A knot tightened in my stomach. “Did you know?”

“No,” you said simply. Then, with the same eerie calm, you added, “If your dad really paid her off—like she said—I’m sorry.”

You turned and headed for the kitchen, as if we were discussing something far less personal. A lost cardigan. The new bookstore in Cambridge. How many biscuits were left in the pantry.

I watched you go, my pulse still drumming in my ears. The lack of emotion in your voice, the careful way you moved—like none of this touched you—rattled me, Casey. I longed to tug you back.

“Hey,” I said, and you paused in the hallway, waiting, hands jammed in your pockets. “I guess I forgot to mention the Michael visit. I wasn’t trying to hide it or anything.”

A lie so big I could barely swallow it.

But you just nodded, your face giving nothing away. “No worries.” A small, almost polite smile flickered across your lips. “You don’t owe me an explanation, Elliot.”

Explanation. The word felt intentional. A double-edged sword meant to cut me.