The expression transformed his face, softened the hard edges, warmed the ice in his eyes. He patted her hand reassuringly, didn't even glance in my direction, and handed his black card to the waiting saleswoman.
"She's a friend."
The words hit me like a blade of Sicilian steel, driven straight between my ribs. Goosebumps erupted across my skin. My knees nearly buckled.
A friend.
So that's what three years amounted to. Three years of devotion, of sacrifice, of loving a man who couldn't—wouldn't—love me back. One word: friend.
The boutique's crystal chandeliers flickered overhead, the lights crackling with an electrical fault that no one had bothered to fix. I looked up instinctively—
Just as a fixture broke loose from the ceiling.
A deafening crash.
Searing pain exploded across my back like white-hot fire, driving the breath from my lungs. Glass and metal rained down around me. I hit the marble floor hard, and something warm and wet began to spread beneath my body.
My trembling fingers came away slick with blood. My blood.
The store erupted into chaos. Screams pierced the air. Phone calls blurred into a single ringing in my ears. Someone was crying. Someone was shouting for help.