I remained silent the entire drive home. The car pulled into the garage, darkness swallowing us.
In the elevator, Claire tried again. She pressed the watch box into my hand.
"I picked it especially for you, Ruby. Please, stop being angry."
She was a pragmatic woman. For her to go to this extent meant she was either truly sorry—or trying desperately to cover her tracks.
The elevator lighting was clinical and bright. I looked down at the velvet box.
Something caught my eye.
A single, short strand of hair resting against the plush interior.
I plucked it out. Not mine. Not Claire's long hair.
As I brought the box closer, a faint scent assaulted my senses. Not new leather or metal.
Cloying. Familiar.
The same cheap cologne Colin had started wearing recently.
Bile rose in my throat. I gagged, dry-heaving as the realization hit like a physical blow.
"What's wrong?" Claire's voice was laced with concern, her hand reaching for my shoulder.
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open on the tenth floor.
I didn't answer. Shoved past her, stormed into the hallway. Fueled by a rage that blurred my vision, I marched to the apartment next door and hammered my fist against Colin's door.