“I just… wanted you to have this,” she insisted, holding up the pie again. “Please…”
That was it. My patience snapped. I smacked the plate out of her hands. It shattered on the floor, crumbs scattering.
She gasped theatrically and immediately dropped to her knees, trying to pick up the shards with her bare hands.
Predictably — and probably intentionally — she cut herself.
Her pale hand started to bruise and bleed, and she let out a delicate cry, her tears finally falling.
And of course — because fate hated me — that was the exact moment Ryan and Warren came charging up the stairs.
“Allison!” Warren barked, his sharp voice like a whip crack.
They rushed to Trisha, who whimpered and showed them her injured hand.
Warren rounded on me instantly. “What the hell is wrong with you?! You don’t have to like her, but this? This is petty and cruel!”
Ryan’s eyes met mine, colder than the full moon. “It’s her birthday, Allison,” he said quietly. “You went too far.”
I swallowed down the bitter laugh that threatened to escape. Too far? When she purposely tried to give me something I’m allergic to? Who went too far between the two of us?