Jealousy is supposed to happen only to people in romantic relationships. It should have no business with me.
Yet I felt it—deep, cracking through my bones like firewood being split apart.
His eyes were closed, so I couldn't even make out his expression. But then again, I could barely make out anything about him. He had always been cold, distant, and incredibly hard to read.
But did it even matter what he was thinking? Even if he wasn't hugging her back, he wasn't pushing her away either.
She leaned in closer—far too close—looking every bit like they were an intimate couple.
"She is his concubine. If he wants her, he has the right," my thoughts screamed at me, dragging me down into the mud.
Of course, he must have been intimate with her in the past. This wasn't anything new. I should leave—I didn't even belong here. But then, where did I truly belong?
My hand brushed against my dress pocket where my broken phone now lay, my only chance of getting back home now destroyed.
