“Chester,” the boy taunted, “in three years of marriage, she never bore you a child, but she let me get her pregnant. Don’t you get it? What’s the point of clinging on? Listen, if you don’t back off, I’ll move right into your house. Let’s see then who Faye will stand beside, you or me?”
I thought back over the last year, the months she spent away from home. A bitter smile tugged at my lips.
When Faye returned and saw the chat logs, she saw the shards of shattered glass and jade littering the floor, and she only arched a brow slightly.
“You have nothing you want to explain?” I asked, my voice ragged, mixing with the acrid smoke of her cigarette.
She gave a soft laugh, exhaled a ring of smoke, and sighed. “He’s just a kid. Why bother stooping to his level?”
Faye's tone was airy, like all those years of bloodshed and power struggles in the capital’s ruthless circles hadn’t fallen on us but on her and that boy instead.
“Yes, a boy like him doesn’t understand.”
I tossed a pathology report onto the table—genital organ, surgically removed.
She straightened instantly.
My words fell softly, almost carelessly. “So I taught your lover how to be a man.”
“Chester!”