And Clementine? Designer labels head to toe. Sleek, glossy black hair. A face pampered to porcelain perfection.
A sharp pain shot through my palm. Dominic was prying my fingers open by force.
Blood dripped from between them, falling drop by drop.
The man who used to tear up if I so much as nicked my finger—that same man was now making me bleed with his own hands.
Dominic wrenched the pendant free. The momentum sent me crashing to the ground. A stabbing pain lanced through my lower abdomen.
He moved to help me up, a flicker of concern crossing his face—but Clementine caught his hand.
Dominic handed the pendant to her. The moment she took it, her fingers opened.
I watched the pendant fall, and a scream tore from my throat.
"No—"
But it shattered against the ground, splitting cleanly in two.
I crawled toward it, broken, gathering the pieces into my hands.
Dominic scooped Clementine into his arms, pressing his hand over the bleeding wound on her calf, and hurried away.
Just before they disappeared around the corner, he glanced back and said softly:
"Mildred, wait here for me. Once I get her to the hospital, I'll come back for you."