Why was it always me who had to endure everything?
Maybe the man who once, for my sake, picked up a knife and slashed open her collarbone after she called me a whore was gone.
I gripped my glass so tightly I heard it crack.
As Gideon thought I had let it go, he told the waiter to clear the table and bring in new dishes. He even handed Arabella a fresh plate and cutlery.
She arched a brow, all casual, and asked, “Weren’t we sharing the craziest things we’ve done? I already shared mine. Who’s next?”
While people glanced at each other awkwardly, I spoke up softly. “My turn.”
Everyone exhaled, relieved, thinking the matter was finally over.
Until they saw me stand, slap her hard across the face, then pour a full glass of red wine over her head.
She froze for a second before her eyes widened and she shrieked, “Marianne! How dare you?!”
Gideon instinctively grabbed my wrist, but I tore free with a sharp jerk.
I smiled faintly and spoke over her hysteria. “This… is the craziest thing I’ve done today.”
Then I raised my phone, snapped her humiliating state, and posted it instantly.
Everyone at the table saw that her face darkened in that instant.