He actually thought Lily was still alive?
After that blizzard—after he threw her on the side of the road—a two-year-old burning with fever could still be alive?
"What? Not willing?"
He looked at me.
"Afraid Sophia will mistreat her? Alex Henson, you're still as petty as ever. Sophia is ten thousand times kinder than you."
I clenched my right hand behind my back, nails digging into my palm.
"She doesn't have that kind of luck."
I forced the words through clenched teeth.
His expression shifted.
"Alex Henson! Don't refuse a toast only to drink a forfeit! That little bast—"
"Marcus Abbott."
I cut him off, bent down, and picked up the black card.
"I'll go buy clothes."
The moment I walked out the villa door, I heard Sophia's voice behind me.
"Marcus, don't be mad. Maybe Alex just can't accept it yet..."
After leaving the gated neighborhood, I tossed the black card into a roadside trash can.
Too dirty.
Back at the rental apartment, I dug a red evening gown out of a box under the bed.
My battle outfit from the Vienna solo recital five years ago.
The hem had a big hole chewed by rats, spotted with mildew.
Holding needle and thread, I used my trembling right hand to clumsily mend the tear.