As if that phone call, the one where a woman screamed for her life, had been nothing more than a passing breeze.
"This is why I love you," Chester murmured, pinching Florence's cheek, his gaze so tender it could melt. "That thirty-million-dollar necklace was made for you."
Florence nestled against his shoulder, all coy sweetness. "As long as you're good to me, Chester, I don't need anything else."
I braced my palms against the floor and slowly dragged myself upright.
My knees had split open against the marble. Beads of blood stuck to the surface, and pulling away tore at the raw skin. The pain was sharp, immediate.
But it was nothing. Not even a fraction of what burned inside my chest.
I didn't look at them again. I turned, walked into the bedroom, and locked the door behind me.
Their laughter seeped through from the other side, each note piercing like a needle.
I pressed my back against the door. My whole body was shaking, and I couldn't stop it.
Not from fear.
From rage.
I pulled open the bottom drawer of the nightstand and lifted out stack after stack of thick papers.
Three years' worth of request forms. Every single one, written by my hand.
A request to buy water.