Dahlia, of course, stayed behind. She never left without getting the last word.
“How does it feel being his wife only on paper?” she asked, smirking. “Oh wait—do you two still sleep together? Does he even touch you anymore? I doubt it. He’s with me every night. He can’t get enough of me. I’m sure he doesn’t even remember what you taste like.”
I stayed silent.
She laughed at my quiet. “Pathetic. That’s what you get for stealing my life. It was never yours. Everything belongs to me, Valentine.”
She stomped her heel inches from my foot, irritated that I wasn’t reacting.
“Your husband’s staying in this house tonight,” she added, smug. “But he’ll be in my bed. And the poor Donna? She’ll be alone, invisible, while the Don's wrapped around me.”
Just like that, the nightmare became real.
I passed by my room… and I heard them.
Her moans. His voice. Their pleasure echoing through the walls. The bed frame rattled—mocking me. The room that once felt like the only place I could breathe in this mansion was now a shrine to my humiliation.