Warren erupted. He lunged forward, shoved me against the wall. My lower back slammed into the edge of the cabinet, and his hand closed around my throat. "So you admit it, Leonora. You're the one behind all of this."
"Yvonne is not the other woman. Whoever I love is my rightful partner."
"Isn't there a saying online? 'The one who isn't loved is the real third wheel.'"
Blood from the gash on my brow trickled down onto his hand. He released me, flicking the blood off his fingers with a look of revulsion. His voice went cold. "You have one night. I don't care how you do it. Tell them you made it all up. Tell them you were jealous. I don't care. By tomorrow morning, I don't want Yvonne seeing a single one of those stories."
He grabbed his phone and left. His voice drifted back from the elevator lobby, soft and tender in a way I hadn't heard in years. "Yvonne, don't cry. I'm on my way. I told you I'd take care of it. Don't worry."
I crumpled to the floor. The room tilted and spun. My brow was split open, the pain blinding, and a deeper, more terrifying ache was spreading through my abdomen. My heart stuttered. I pressed my hand to my stomach, dialed 911, and blacked out.