Her body went rigid. The smugness drained from her face.
She looked up at Otis, suddenly fragile. Uncertain.
Otis exhaled slowly. He set her down and walked toward me.
"Debbie."
His voice was flat. Empty.
"Don't regret this."
He signed his name on the line—and then turned back to comfort her.
"Happy now?"
She burst into tears of joy, throwing her arms around him. But her eyes found mine over his shoulder, holding my gaze in silent challenge.
I win.
That's what her look said.
I didn't spare Otis another glance. I didn't acknowledge her triumphant stare. I only felt the boulder that had been crushing my chest finally roll away.
I couldn't name what I felt.
I just sat in the empty villa, watching the movers methodically erase every trace of my existence, when my phone buzzed.
A video. From Otis's little girl.
On the screen:
Otis, down on one knee, pressing his lips to the back of her hand with the reverence of a man worshipping something sacred. His voice, soft and fervent:
"Jemima."
"My feelings for you aren't just words."
"The ceremony you want, the commitment you need—I'll give you all of it. So—" He produced a ring, the diamond obscenely large, and slid it onto her finger. "Are you happy now?"