I stood in the darkness. The room smelled of dust and disuse. Through the wall, from the master bedroom next door, I could hear muffled laughter. Then the bed creaked. The rhythm was unmistakable. They weren't even trying to be quiet. They wanted me to hear. That was the point — the last humiliation, the final turn of the screw, the reminder that I had been replaced in every room of this house.
I exhaled slowly. My fingers curled into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms hard enough to leave crescents in the skin. The gold signet ring pressed against my fourth finger, the Ferrante crest a small, hot brand against my flesh.
If Nico wanted me to watch his big moment, I'd make damn sure he had front-row seats to his downfall.
