ME: “You said do something that makes me happy. This is it. Are you going to stop me now?”
A moment later, his reply came. Just one word.
TROY: “Fine.”
I laughed softly. Victory had never tasted so sweet. I stepped into another boutique, arms already full of bags. The cashier stared at me like I was royalty.
And that’s when she walked in.
Bianca. Hazel eyes. Brown hair. A beauty mark under her left eye.
She stopped mid-step when she saw me—and all the shopping bags surrounding me.
“What the hell is this?” she hissed. “You gold-digging bitch—are you trying to make my brother go broke?!”
I didn’t even flinch. “I’m not a gold-digger. I’m his wife. So I deserve this.”
“Deserve?” she scoffed. “No, you don’t. You’ll never deserve anything from him. You stole this life. That bag,” she pointed, “that dress. I want it. It’s mine!”
I rolled my eyes. “You want the dress? Buy your own.”
She stormed over, grabbing the same cream Dior gown I had in my hand. “Let go!”
“No.”
We yanked at the fabric, both of us tugging until it tore straight down the middle with a loud rip.
Silence fell.