ADVERTISEMENT
I sat perfectly still, hands folded in my lap, nails pressing crescents into my own skin. Not because I was afraid. Fear had left me a long time ago. What trembled inside me was something far more dangerous: certainty.
Mark looked exactly as he always did when he thought he was winning. Impeccably tailored suit, relaxed shoulders, that familiar smile that suggested the world owed him admiration simply for existing. Seated beside him was his new wife, Serena—elegant, poised, the kind of woman magazines love to photograph mid-laugh. She rested her hand lightly on his forearm, not gripping, just enough to signal ownership.
ADVERTISEMENT