“Did you really think spending a night with Raphael would change anything?” a third one chuckled. “Sweetheart, you’re in London. Colette’s the queen, and you’re just… the entertainment.”
Laughter rippled through them, their words sharp as knives, each one slicing deeper.
My hands curled into fists at my sides, but I refused to let them see me falter. I had already made up my mind—I would leave. Soon, none of this would matter.
So, I stood there, silent, enduring their mockery, because in the grand scheme of things, their words meant nothing. As long as they did not cross the line, they were not worth my breath.
Then, as if summoned by fate, Raphael’s presence cut through the suffocating air. His arrival silenced the jeering, but the relief that should have come with it never did.
Because my eyes landed on the crimson stain on his collar.
A perfect imprint of Colette’s red lipstick.
A bitter chuckle rose in my throat. So, they were not heading to the hospital but sneaking off to a bedroom for a quick tryst?
Raphael really just made his own downfall effortless for me.