The glass slips from my hand before I realize I've let it go.
It hits the marble floor and explodes, sharp edges scattering like the pieces of my life.
In front of me, Marcus doesn't flinch. He stands there with his shirt half-open, hair mussed, lips swollen from a kiss that should have been mine.
Beside him, Lola—my cousin—smiles. It's not an embarrassed smile, not even guilty. It's the kind of smile a thief wears when they know you'll never get your jewels back.
"You promised me forever," I say, my voice trembling, but it's not from weakness. "Forever, until the end. That's what you told me, Marcus."
He doesn't answer. His gaze slides to Lola, then back to me, as if weighing whether I'm even worth a response.
I take a step forward. "Love, loyalty, respect, peace of mind—I gave you everything. And you…" My throat tightens. "You repay me by sleeping with my blood. Planning to wed her?"
Lola's hand rests on his arm like she owns him. "Oh, Iris," she purrs, "you've always been too dramatic. Marcus and I… we just fit better."
Fit better.
The words land heavier than the betrayal itself.
I glance at Marcus again, searching for even a flicker of shame. But all I find is boredom. The same man who once traced my face as if memorizing it now looks at me like a problem to be solved.
"You made him COO of my father's company," I whisper, more to myself than to them. "And he still chose this."
Finally, Marcus speaks. "Business and feelings don't always mix. You should understand that by now."
Something in me snaps. The heat drains from my body, leaving something colder—calmer. My tears dry before they fall.
"Enjoy each other," I say, stepping past them toward the door. "I hope you choke on what you've stolen."
Lola's laugh follows me out, sweet and venomous.
The elevator doors slide shut, and my reflection stares back at me. My hair is a mess, my lipstick smudged. But my eyes… my eyes are different now.
This is not the end.
As the elevator descends, my phone buzzes.
An unknown number.
I hesitate, then answer.
"I saw what they did to you," a deep voice says. Smooth. Controlled. Dangerous.
"Who is this?"
"Someone who doesn't like losing," he replies. "And I think we can help each other."
The line goes dead.
And for the first time tonight, I'm not thinking about what I've lost—
I'm thinking about what I can take back.