No matter how I tried to explain—that she was a loyalty tester, that she'd seduced boyfriend after boyfriend, that she'd destroyed relationship after relationship—
Roberta just stood there, trembling and crying:
"I really didn't! I don't even know you. I'm just a makeup artist."
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'll get on my knees and apologize if you want. Please stop making up stories about me…"
Everyone had whispered among themselves:
"A loyalty tester? She reads too many novels. People like that don't exist."
"She's probably been the jealous wife for so long she thinks every woman is after her husband. Tsk, tsk, tsk. How embarrassing..."
My protests had grown feeble against the tide of sneering and mockery from the guests, and under Clay's weary gaze.
He sighed, resigned, and walked over to wrap me in a gentle embrace.
"It's okay. If you don't like her, we'll fire her. How about that?"
"But you should've just told me directly, instead of making up rumors about the poor girl..."
I'd thought he was simply like the rest of the guests, fooled by Roberta's lies and her act.
It wasn't until the moment I died that I finally understood.
His heart had already shifted toward Roberta.
...