My palm connected with her cheek before she could speak.
The slap echoed across the courtyard.
"Do you know what you are?" My tone was sharp enough to cut, but my expression stayed flat—bored, even. "As long as I'm standing here, holding the title of Mrs. Sanchez for even one more second, you're nothing but a homewrecking mistress who isn't fit to be seen in public."
I grabbed a fistful of her hair and slammed her head against the door frame. The impact rang out like a gunshot.
She screamed—raw, unhinged.
"You're insane!"
"OTIS!"
"OTIS! Are you just going to stand there and watch her do this to me?!"
"Otis!"
I raised my hand, ready to slap her again.
But my wrist was suddenly seized from behind. Otis's voice came from over my shoulder, laced with cold amusement.
"Mrs. Sanchez, that's rather undignified, don't you think?"
His tone stayed light, almost playful.
I heard the warning underneath.
"She's at that age where girls care about their looks," Otis continued. "If you actually damage her face, you'll be the one dealing with the fallout. Why put yourself through that?"