Millie’s face darkened, the anger sparking in her eyes barely concealed as she buried herself in his chest. Yet, in her calculated way, she soon pulled back and left a deep red mark on the side of his neck, a brazen claim of possession for anyone who cared to look.
Peter’s expression changed as he looked closer, seeing something new. His gaze lowered to the vivid mark she bore on her cheek—a bright red impression, as though from a slap, marring her otherwise flawless skin.
“What happened to you?” he demanded, his voice darkening. “You were fine just moments ago!”
His face clouded with worry and without hesitation, he took her hand and stormed off down the hall, concern blazing in his eyes. Millie’s voice dropped to a syrupy murmur, filled with false humility. “It’s nothing, as long as it makes Gia feel better.”
The tone of her words was enough to make bile rise in my throat. The implication was clear, though Millie hadn’t even stepped near my room. I realized with a cold, sinking certainty that the mark on her cheek was nothing more than lipstick, a fabrication crafted to appear as a slap.
Even so, Peter didn’t doubt her for a second.