Then she leaned in, biting his neck lightly as she whispered, "Don't you know how much Elaine cares about me? She's probably worried sick right now, afraid I'm mad at her and stop talking to her!"
I stared at her—the woman I'd called my closest friend—watching her mock the very loyalty and love I'd cherished.
I thought of how I had run here in desperation, heart pounding with fear of losing her. And yet here they were—sharing a secret joke at my expense.
Something inside me cracked wide open.
The crack in my heart widened—so wide I could almost see myself bleeding through it, and yet, I still waited.
Waited for Iñigo to explain. Waited for the man who once spoiled me beyond reason to say something, anything that could make it right.
But all he said was, in that calm, dismissive tone, "Okay, that's enough. You two are best friends, after all."
That was it.
As if my world hadn't just fallen apart.
I remembered the first time I met Iñigo.
He looked at me seriously and said, "What I hate most in this life are people who steal others' lovers."
Then, almost bitterly, he told me why.
"My mom cheated with my dad's best friend. When my dad found out, he left us!"